Lost
by friedzoaster
Summary: After Kyle goes missing, does Stan have what it takes to save him?
1. Chapter 1

Lost- Chapter 1

Stan was an ordinary fourth grader, or at least he tried to be, considering the rest of his town was made of complete lunatics. Well. _Most _of the town, except for Kyle, who was pretty sane, or at least seemed pretty normal.

They had been best friends since, well, since forever, despite their differences. But it looked like things were changing- school was going to start tomorrow for Stan and Kyle, but Kyle would be going to a different school. Stan would be going into fifth grade, as he normally would, at South Park elementary, but Kyle, who had always been smarter and just kind of a nerd, was going to skip a grade and go into sixth grade at South Park middle school.

Stan was sad that Kyle would be leaving him, but he was sure Kyle would find his own, smarter, friends. He already missed Kyle. Goddamn it, why did Kyle have to be so smart and leave him behind?

He knew that he was being selfish. This was a good opportunity for Kyle, who revered learning and books. _Apparently more so than friends_, Stan thought as he rolled over in his bed, staring at the ceiling, hugging a pillow to his chest. _No, _he thought, angry with himself for thinking like this. _I'm just jealous of Kyle. I can't let that interfere with our friendship._ And with that, Stan sighed, and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to come take him away.

* * *

Kyle woke up to the annoying "bring"ing of his alarm clock. _Too early_, Kyle thought_. I just went to sleep moments ago…_ The "bring"ing wasn't so annoying now, just sort of background noise as the world faded away again as Kyle snuggled down under the warm covers of his bed.

"Up, Kyle, up!" his mother yanked his blankets off of him in an attempt to wake him up. Kyle curled up into a ball, trying to warm himself up again.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled. But his mother did not reply, she had already gone to shake Ike awake. The cold of the morning air was too much for Kyle. Yawning, he sat up and started to pull his clothes on lazily.

Shirt. Jacket. Pants. Socks.

He dragged a brush through his hair in a last effort to make it look at least somewhat presentable, but it just curled and stood up more than ever. Sighing, Kyle yanked his hat on and made his way downstairs for breakfast.

Somewhat later, after a bowl of cereal and a brief trudge to his new school, Kyle found himself standing in front of a crumbling, white asbestos building, marked with a sign: South Park Middle School. Apart from the sign, it looked more like a prison than a school. Kyle sighed and started walking in. He noticed with some alarm that he was the shortest one there. He had expected that, seeing as he was younger, but the problem was that everyone seemed to notice that too.

"The elementary school is that way, retard," one tall and thickset boy yelled at him.

There seemed to be some sort of telepathic message between all the older kids: This kid was fresh meat.

And Kyle knew it too. He hastily found his way to his locker and opened it after trying the combination several times and kicking it a bit, for good measure.

As he was stashing his books and lunchbox neatly in, he felt a blow from behind and his head was knocked into his metal locker just after he closed it, causing a jolt of pain in his forehead. He heard laughter explode behind him and turned around, but everyone had somehow just merged into the flood of bodies passing behind him.

Uneasily, Kyle re-adjusted his hat and made his way to his first class.

* * *

School at South Park Elementary was same as ever. Cartman was still fat, Kenny was still a pervert, and Stan welcomed the smell of pencils and glue again.

"Where's your _boyfriend, _Stan?" Cartman had jeered when Stan came in without Kyle. Stan responded by kicking Cartman repeatedly, and Cartman didn't mention Kyle again for the rest of the day.

But at the end of the day, Stan felt strangely lonely, even though he had been surrounded by his usual friends and faces the whole day. He just wondered how Kyle was doing and wondering what Kyle's new friends were like. After dinner, Stan decided to call Kyle.

"Kyle?" he asked as the phone was picked up.

"Stan? That you?"

Stan smiled as the familiar voice washed over him. "Yeah. How's it going? How's all your new friends?" he asked.

Kyle paused. He had not made any friends at all.

He had sat alone at lunch in the corner with his lunch tray, as Derrick, a large, burly kid, had poured milk on his head and thrown his backpack in the trash can. Kyle had finally unearthed in under a pile of banana peels and half-eaten PBJ sandwiches, and brushed it off as best he could, though it still smelt like a pile of shit.

When he had introduced himself for attendance, Derrick declared, much to the amusement of the class, that Kyle was just a "Jewish lump of shit."

Later, Derrick had shoved Kyle's head in the toilets, saying that "shit belonged in the toilet". Everyone had taken to calling him "lump" or "Jew," or "shit head."

"Uh.. I made a friend called.. um.." Kyle thought desperately. Stan sounded so eager, so expectant to hear good news, and Kyle didn't want to ruin his day. "His name is Derrick. He's.. fun." Kyle said, after a long pause.

"That's good." Stan said. He felt.. what did he feel? Resentful? Jealous? Or happy for his friend? He didn't know. "I'm glad that you have friends!" He said, forcing himself to sound cheerful. Kyle had his own friends now. Kyle didn't need him anymore. Stan just had to accept that.

"Kyle, can I tell you something?" Stan asked before he could stop himself.

A pause. "Yeah, dude, anything," Kyle replied.

"I.. I had this weird dream a couple of nights ago. It started out normal, I guess. You and I were playing at Stark's Pond. We were playing some sort of tag game or something. And then I tagged you and we… we fell down. And I fell on top of you. And then I woke up and I was all hot and stuff and… wow that dream was so stupid, huh?"

A pause.

"I don't think it's stupid at all," Kyle said softly after a moment.

"You- you don't?"

"Of course not. Everyone has dreams like that every once in a while. It's perfectly normal. So don't worry, Stan."

"I won't," Stan smiled. "Thanks for listening."

"No prob," answered Kyle. "Well, I should go and uh… do my homework and… stuff."

"You have homework on the _first day?"_

"Uh… Derrick wants to hang out. I should go," Kyle said hurriedly. He didn't want Stan to start asking him more about school, he didn't want Stan to worry. He didn't want to be a bother or a problem, because that's all he ever seemed to be- a bother, just something that got in the way.

"Wait!" Stan called through the receiver. "Um… you won't tell anyone, right? Especially not Cartman?"

"Of course. Your secret is safe with me." Stan smiled and put down the phone. Kyle sighed. He didn't want to lie to Stan, but he couldn't disappoint him either. Maybe it was best to just lay low for a while.

* * *

Outside Stan's window, the Coon lay waiting in the dead of night, nestled in a tree. What was this?! Stan was having dreams of Kyle?! It meant only one thing: Stan was _gay. _And with a gay student in his school's midst, how would the young boys protect themselves from this crazy molestering maniac? The Coon had to do something.


	2. Chapter 2

Lost- chapter 2

The next morning, as Stan arrived at school, everyone seemed to be avoiding him. He heard whispers and saw pointed fingers. What was going on? Stan hurried to his locker and saw Wendy waiting there for him, her arms crossed, a frown wrinkling her face like paper. What had happened? Did Stan say something he shouldn't have?

"Wendy, what's going on? Has something happened? Is every-" Stan asked, worried.

"You know perfectly well what's going on! I can't believe you would do this to me!" Wendy cried.

"I don't understa-" Stan started.

"You're gay! You're _gay, _Stan, and you never bothered to tell me, your girlfriend?!"

"I'm not gay. There must be some silly rumor going on or something. Chill, Wendy." Stan said, relieved it wasn't anything too serious. There were always stupid rumors going around that either him or Kyle were gay, due to the fact that they were such close friends.

"Yes you are! You _dream _about Kyle, and lying on top of Kyle! How is that not gay?!" Wendy yelled, tears welling in her eyes.

Stan paused. How did Wendy know? Did she overhear his conversation with Kyle? She couldn't have, she lived all the way across town. How could anyone know, unless… But Kyle wouldn't have told everyone, he was his friend! _How can you be so sure?_ a little voice at the back of Stan's mind asked. _He's got his own friends now at his new school. _

"Where did you hear this?" Stan asked hurriedly.

"Everyone knows, Stan." Wendy said, her eyes full of tears. "Everyone knew. But me. I should have known you would do this, Stan. You always liked Kyle more than me," she said, crying full force now. She rushed off to the girl's bathroom, leaving Stan standing there, the word "wait" caught in his throat. He couldn't believe Kyle would tell. Kyle had _promised, _hadn't he? But on the phone, Kyle had seemed distant somehow… Kyle had abandoned him, Stan, his best friend.

_No, _Stan thought, _I used to be his best friend. Not anymore. _And Kyle was no longer Stan's friend either.

* * *

Kyle arrived at school early on Friday, hoping to avoid the crowd that had teased him mercilessly the previous days. So far, lunch trays had been emptied over his head, his belongings had been stolen, his locker had been plastered with "Go home midget" stickers, his textbooks and notebooks had been dropped in the toilet, and he had been used for "karate practice" by Lenny Morris seven times. Today Kyle seemed out of luck. Derrick and his friends were already there at the school, leaning against the fence, smoking. Kyle tried to avoid them, to make himself not be seen by walking around to find a side entrance or hopefully somewhere to hide until Derrick and his gang were gone, but it was too late.

They had seen him.

That afternoon, Kyle left school with a black eye and bruises on his arms and an empty stomach, thanks to Derrick, who had decided to claim any of Kyle's possessions if he wanted to, including his lunch. If Kyle protested, which he had tried to do, but wisely stopped after Derrick's mates held him back while Derrick used him as a punching bag.

Kyle leaned against the side of the building, then slid down and flopped down onto the ground. He hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms.

If only he hadn't gone to middle school a year ahead.. if only he wasn't so damn smart.. if only Stan were here.

Stan.

Kyle had forgotten about him. He stood up and dusted his jeans off. Grabbing his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder, he headed for Stan's house.

* * *

It wasn't a long walk to Stan's house, but it started to rain as Kyle trudged to Stan's, starting with a light drizzle and ending with the rain falling in huge droplets like pebbles falling from the sky. Kyle arrived at Stan's house after a while, thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone. Stan's mom answered the door.

"Kyle!" she exclaimed, taking in his disheveled appearance.

"Is Stan home?" Kyle asked wearily.

"Yes," Sharon said after a moment's hesitation. "yes, he's in his room."

Without warning, Kyle leapt into the house and bounded up the stairs towards Stan's room. He stopped, coming to Stan's room, and knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" Stan called.

Kyle let himself in. "Stan-"

"_You._" Stan turned around. His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly when he saw Kyle's black eye and wet body, but set his face back into a frown again. "What are you doing here?"

"I- I wanted to talk to you Stan," Kyle said, imploringly.

"What, you wanted to hear more so you could tell everyone about how gay I am? Yeah, right."

"What?" Kyle said, startled. "What happened?"

"Don't act like you don't know," accused Stan. "You told everyone, even Cartman, about my dream! Now Wendy broke up with me and the whole class treats me like some kind of freak! You know who I had to sit with at lunch? Butters!"

"I-I didn't-" Kyle started.

"Get out. Get _out!" _Stan yelled. Kyle ran, out of his room, past the bewildered Mrs. Marsh, and out into the rain again.

It was dark now, and cold, and Kyle could see only by the yellow glare of the streetlights. He decided to take a shortcut home through an alleyway. He just wanted this day to end.

As Kyle entered the dark alleyway, he realized it was a bad idea. It was dark, and Kyle couldn't see anything. He decided to walk quickly and get it over with.

After a while, he thought he heard something- footsteps. Kyle stopped. The footsteps kept coming, closer and closer.

"Who's there?" Kyle called. No reply, just the sound of rain hitting the concrete. The footsteps were coming closer now, faster and faster. Kyle started to run, but a gloved hand came out of the dark, hand over his mouth and a hand around his chest to stop him from escaping. He bit down on the hand over his mouth and the person let go. A voice swore.

"You little bitch.." rasped someone.

Cold metal on the back of his head. He heard a crack, and then felt it, a burning pain in the back of his head. He tasted blood, and saw nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

~ Previously ~

"_Who's there?" Kyle called. No reply, just the sound of rain hitting the concrete. The footsteps were coming closer now, faster and faster. Kyle started to run, but a gloved hand came out of the dark, hand over his mouth and a hand around his chest to stop him from escaping. He bit down on the hand over his mouth and the person let go. A voice swore._

"_You little bitch.." rasped someone._

_Cold metal on the back of his head. He heard a crack, and then felt it, a burning pain in the back of his head. He tasted blood, and saw nothing._

* * *

*** 6 years later ***

Officer Jameson of the Denver Police Force knocked on the door of the blue, paint-peeled door.

"Open up," he called, "or I will enter by force." No answer. He waited for a moment, then kicked the door in. It collapsed easier than he had thought, due to the fact that it seemed to be rotting. He tripped and hit his knee on the floor.

"Shit," he swore, rubbing his knee and rising to a stand.

"Everything okay in there, Jameson?" his walkie-talkie crackled

He had always imagined drug busts would be more hardcore, more official than this, with CIA and flashlights and sirens.

But really, they had been tipped off that someone had been selling drugs out of this small, cramped apartment, and Officer Jameson, the lowest ranked and newest member of the Police force, had been sent out to investigate. It was his first drug bust, and the fact that there were five other policemen waiting outside didn't exactly change the fact that he was terrified.

The apartment was filthy- mold growing on the curtains, dirty dishes, rotting food left out. The electricity didn't seem to be working and Officer Jameson turned on his flashlight. He tentatively stepped into the kitchen.

BUMP.

Officer Jameson pulled out his gun and aimed.

A small and terrified mouse scuttled away back into the darkness.

Jameson exhaled, feeling a droplet of sweat trickling down his back.

"Just follow the procedure, do what you're supposed to, and get out of here," he murmured to himself.

The procedure. Right.

He stepped into the kitchen and swung open a cabinet. Grimy glasses coated with dust came to view and he closed the door again. After trekking through the small apartment, Jameson found the bedroom. Under the filthy mattress he uncovered several Ziploc pound bags of marijuana and in the bathtub another couple of bags of cocaine.

"Drugs have been found, I repeat, drugs found under mattress in bedroom. Request backup for identification." He said into his mouthpiece.

"Roger that, backup coming through." his superior's voice crackled through.

Jameson left the room and started to explore the rest of the apartment. As he ventured farther into the maze of filth, a disgusting smell hit him, like a dead animal was rotting in there. He put his sleeve over his nose and walked hesitantly farther in.

The smell was getting worse and worse. Jameson swung his flashlight around, looking for the source. He stopped. Was that.. _blood_ on the wall?

Moving the beam of his flashlight downwards, he saw a body of a man, around age 30 or 40. It was hard to tell, the body was decaying. Flies buzzed around the head of the corpse. Jameson felt a wave of nausea hit him like a stone in his stomach. Cold fear had taken over his body and he couldn't move, and yet he found himself slowly inching closer, hand over his mouth to stop him from screaming.

Wait.

Was that a foot? Of someone else?

He pointed the beam up, revealing a leg, and then a body of a boy around age 16.

He gasped. He was blindfolded, hands and ankles bound and chained to the wall, covered in scars and dried blood. His skin was stretched like canvas on a wood frame, white and Jameson realized he could see every bone in his body. He forced himself to plant one foot in front of the other and move forward. With a start, Jameson saw the boy was still breathing.

His hands shaking, he lifted the walkie-talkie to his mouth.

"Get an ambulance. And _fast._" He ordered.

* * *

It had been six years since Stan's best friend, Kyle had disappeared that one cold, dark, rainy night. After he hadn't come home that night and hadn't showed up at school the next day, his parents called the police.

An investigation was instigated and they could find no trace of Kyle Broflovski. It was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. After a while, some blood was found in an alleyway by the Marsh's residence, which was soon identified to be Kyle's. The police ruled that Kyle had been attacked and killed and that the murderer must have disposed of his body somewhere else, as it was nowhere to be found.

Shortly after, the rest of the Broflovski family moved out of town to Israel, claiming that they couldn't stand any longer to live in the town where their son had been murdered. No one knew their new addresses or how to reach them as they had cut all contacts with their friends in South Park.

And life had gone on.

Until six years after the year Kyle Broflovski was reported missing, Mrs. Marsh got a call.

Kyle Broflovski was alive, barely, and was being held in Denver hospital. He had been abused and starved and god knows what else, but he was alive.

He hadn't seemed to have any human interactions apart from his kidnapper, who was found dead on location. Mrs. Marsh was warned that he would be very silent and withdrawn at least for a while, but he was getting healthier every day.

Since no one could find a way to contact Kyle's original family, they asked that Kyle would be allowed to stay at the Marshes as they had been very close to Kyle originally. They hoped he could be transferred to the Marshes' home within a week.

"Yes, yes, of course, he can come today, as soon as possible. When can I pick him up?" Mrs. Marsh had asked hurriedly.

"He is being kept in room 14B on the 5th floor. Anytime is fine, he is ready for transferal at any time." the attendant at Denver hospital said.

With a trembling hand, Mrs. Marsh put down the receiver. She leaned back in her chair and took a long, deep breath. Kyle was alive. No. Kyle was _barely _alive, the attendant on the phone had said. What had happened to him? Where had he been?

* * *

"I'm home!" Stan burst through the front door, dropping his backpack on the ground, kicking off his shoes, and heading to the kitchen. "Mom? You okay?"

Sharon Marsh stood up shakily. "Yes, honey, I'm fine. I have some news for you."

"Okay, spill," Stan said, opening the fridge and rummaging through its contents.

"Remember Kyle?" a crash. Stan had dropped the jar of peanut butter he had been holding. He laughed nervously and bent down to pick it up.

"Yeah, what about him?" Stan said defensively. Mrs. Marsh inhaled.

"He's alive," Stan froze, putting down the peanut butter jar on the counter with a clink. He slowly turned around.

"He is?! Where was he? What happe-"

"He's in the hospital, the one in Denver. They… found him three days ago." Stan's expression changed from one of happiness to something dark, something full of pain and understanding, too much understanding.

"Was he…?" Stan started.

"Kidnapped? Yes," his mother finished, "and abused. Badly. We don't know exactly what happened, all I know is that he is in Denver hospital now. And- and since they can't contact his family, he's going to be living with us, for at least until they can find his family."

"But- that's great! When will I be able to see him?" Stan burst before he could help himself.

He was 16 now, and growing up without Kyle had been hard enough, let alone the fact that Stan had blamed himself for Kyle's 'death.' Would Kyle be angry with him, hate him for what he had done to his friend? Stan didn't know, but he couldn't help wanting to see him.

"We're picking him up today from Denver Hospital. I waited to go there until you came home, I thought you might like to.. say hi to Kyle," Mrs. Marsh finished lamely. She wrung her hands back and forth, looking nervous. "Are you sure you'll be fine, seeing Kyle? I mean, what if you-"

"I'll be _fine, _Mom," Stan interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I took my pills today, everything's cool. Can we go now? Please?" His mother stood there for a minute, eying him carefully, as if to see whether he was telling the truth. After a moment, she nodded.

"Get in the car, Stan."


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors note: Sorry about the late chapter, my update schedule is Mondays and Wednesdays, but yesterday I was really busy. Anyway, enjoy the new chapter and happy Valentine's day!_

~ Previously ~

"_We're picking him up today from Denver Hospital. I waited to go there until you came home, I thought you might like to.. say hi to Kyle," Mrs. Marsh finished lamely. She wrung her hands back and forth, looking nervous. "Are you sure you'll be fine, seeing Kyle? I mean, what if you-"_

_ "I'll be fine, Mom," Stan interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I took my pills today, everything's cool. Can we go now? Please?" His mother stood there for a minute, eying him carefully, as if to see whether he was telling the truth. After a moment, she nodded._

_ "Get in the car, Stan." _

* * *

It was a two hour drive to Denver, but to Stan, it felt like four hours. He was so restless, jiggling his leg, tapping his fingers. _Kyle's been gone for six years,_ Stan thought. _Will he still recognize me?_

_What if he hates me? It was my fault he got kidnapped…_

_What if he finds out about.. me? How will he react? Will he look the same? Will _I _recognize him? _

_He won't act the same, that's for sure. God knows what happened to him.._ What _had _happened to Kyle? Stan shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He buried his face in his hands. What was he going to do?

"We're here," his mother announced. Stan sat up, looking out the window. "Denver Hospital" a sign read. A large red brick building loomed in front of them. "You okay, honey?" she said, taking in Stan's whitened pallor.

"I'm fine," he said, pushing his hair away from his face with his hand. "Let's go."

"I'm here to see Kyle Broflovski," Sharon Marsh said to the lady at the receptionist's desk. Stan looked over the counter. The woman was very pale, so pale that the fluorescent light made her skin look almost translucent. Bright red lipstick like red war paint was splashed across her lips. Her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it seemed to be stretching her face back, but the thing that scared Stan the most were her eyes. They were cold, uncaring, devoid of all emotion- like little black beetles on her face. She looked like a vampire.

And not the type that sparkles.

There were so many noises- beeps and moans and the click-clack of nurses' heels on the linoleum floor. It was so bright, and everything was white…

"Stan, honey, you okay?" his mother interrupted. Stan looked at her. "I know you don't like hospitals, and I don't blame you, considering... But you have to be strong for Kyle. Okay?" Stan nodded. Sharon Marsh took his hand in hers and squeezed. Stan would have been annoyed, said that he was too old for this, but he didn't.

At the moment, he would take all the help and support he could.

The woman coughed. "Coming?" she asked impatiently. Stan looked to his mother and nodded. The woman led them down the hall to a room separated from sight by a light green curtain. Stan took a deep breath and stepped in.

At first Stan didn't see him, he was so pale and thin, he almost blended in with the white walls and sheets. Only the curly mane of red hair attracted his attention, and then he saw the face that came with it.

"Kyle!" Stan rushed to his bedside. His face was the same, same nose, same mouth, same freckles.

The eyes were different, though. They were so clear and green and.. sad? Scared? Stan didn't know. He reminded Stan of a deer caught in headlights- Kyle-no, the boy in the bed-had jumped at the sudden noise and pulled his knees to his chest, sitting on top of the bed, sheets discarded around his toes.

He was in plain, white pajamas with a bandage wrapped around his head and another two around his wrists and, Stan noticed, his ankles. He was so thin, and it seemed that if Stan tried to so much as hug him he would splinter in two. The bones stuck out from his skin- Stan could see his collarbones and cheekbones jutting out of his thin frame.

"Kyle, it's me," Stan said softly, drawing closer to the bed, "It's me, Stan."

"…Stan?" Kyle asked in a voice so quiet but a voice that was so familiar but it seemed so different- dusty, almost, if he could describe it that way, like it hadn't been used for years, not since six years ago at least…

"So, Kyle," his mother started, "you're going to be staying with us for a while. Is that okay with you…?" she trailed off, leaving the question sounding more like a confirmation.

"Where's.." Kyle said again, in that quiet voice that pumped from old dusty air bellows like an old accordion being played for the first time in years. "Where's my.. family?" A question mark, hanging in the air.

Neither Stan nor his mother wanted to be the one to tell him. Eventually his mother replied.

"They moved after you were-after you left. To Israel. We can't contact them." Mrs. Marsh said, looking down at the ground. Kyle's eyes widened, and then returned to normal. Apart from that, he simply nodded. He looked slightly crestfallen.

"See, everyone thought you were dead," Stan butted in. He felt Kyle needed some explanation of what had happened, that it wasn't his fault his parents left. "They left because- because they didn't want to stay in the town where their son-where you were.. uh...kidnapped." he finished lamely. Kyle merely nodded.

"So, uh, let's get in the car and, um, well, go!" Ms. Marsh said brightly, evidently trying to break up the tension.

Kyle didn't talk the whole car ride, although he was a bit bewildered by the seat belt and Stan did his up for him, noticing how Kyle shrank away when the fabric was drawn across his throat and middle, cringing at the touch of the cloth on his skin. Then Stan noticed the bruises and mark on his neck, and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it after a minute at a loss for words.

They arrived home and Stan unbuckled Kyle's seatbelt for him, and he thought he saw a twinge of relief in Kyle's expression. He opened the door for Kyle and they walked into his house.

"I have a surprise for you," he said, heading up the stairs and beckoning Kyle to follow. They entered Stan's room and Stan quietly closed the door behind them. He walked up to his desk and drew out an old, green, faded hat with two ear flaps. He handed it to Kyle, looking down at the familiar object in his hands.

"Is this…?" Kyle said slowly. There it was. That dust again in his voice- Stan pictured his vocal chords covered in rust, finally starting to work again.

"Your old hat? Yeah," Stan said, grinning at his old friend's reaction. He took it from Kyle's hands and placed it on his head, covering up his hair and part of his bandage.

Kyle reached up and felt his hat on his head, and Stan thought he saw just the trace of a smile like a crack in his face, splitting it in two. He put his hands on Kyle's shoulders and steered him to the mirror. He gasped and Stan wasn't sure if it had been a good idea to show Kyle his reflection. Again, Kyle reached up, but this time felt his bandage and leaned forward, closer to the mirror. His hands went down and felt his face, his cheekbones jutting out of his face like cliffs, his fingers tracing his nose, his lips.

With a start, Stan saw Kyle's eyes' reflection in the mirror- so green and so, so sad, and so _old, _too old for a boy of 16, a boy who had seen and endured things beyond his imagining…Stan just gave into the urge and outright hugged Kyle from behind, startling him at first. "I missed you so much," Stan said, his voice cracking, as he spoke the words he knew to be true.

"I missed you too," Kyle said, and Stan could tell that he meant it. Stan broke the embrace, feeling stupid for being all sentimental and shit. _Man up,_ he told himself. _Don't be a pussy._

"Wait till I tell Cartman and Kenny and Butters and all those guys.. they're not going to believe it," Stan said, elated. He almost slapped himself to see if it was a dream but stopped himself- if this _was _a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

"About Cartman and Kenny and those guys…" Kyle started.

"Yeah?"

"How did they find out about your dream? Because I never.." Kyle asked. At first Stan was confused. What dream? And then he remembered- that night, the reason Kyle was alone in the dark, the reason Kyle got kidnapped, that night he had always wanted to forget but couldn't- Stan smiled.

"Remember how Cartman would run around dressed as a raccoon and sneaking up on people? He was hiding outside my window that night. He told everyone," Stan said. "And- and I'm so sorry for making you walk alone- I'm so sorry for yelling at you, for abandoning you- it's my fault what happened to you happened. And.. I know you must be mad at me, you must hate me for that night, and I don't blame you. But- but I just.. I'm just so happy you're alive. We all thought you were dead, see, and I, well, uh, yeah." Stan finished lamely. He didn't want to tell Kyle the whole truth yet.

"I was never mad at you. I never blamed you. So don't blame yourself," Kyle said slowly. Stan looked at his feet, biting his lip, feeling uncomfortable. Kyle reached over and gently used his finger under Stan's chin to lift his face up. "Please," Kyle pleaded, looking into Stan's eyes, "don't blame yourself."

* * *

Stan spent the rest of the time showing Kyle around the house as he seemed to have forgotten quite a lot during his six years gone. Things had gone slightly catastrophic when Randy had arrived home with Shelley at 5 after finishing work and picking Shelley up from her job. His phone had been dead and none of his wife's frantic calls had reached him, and he arrived at the house in complete naivety.

"Who's that?" he had asked, removing his shoes at the front door, looking pointedly at the red-haired, thin, boy in white hospital clothes, an old green hat, and bandages.

"Yeah, who's the boyfriend, assface?" his sister had spat, her typical greeting.

She had dropped out of college and was working at customer service at the local branch of Walmart, something Stan found very funny and ironic, but had refrained from pointing out. According to Randy, this job was "very aggravating" and they all had to "give Shelley some space" and not mind if she beat up Stan and swore at everyone.

Her favorite names to call Stan ranged from "turd" to "shit-tits" and "assface," among many others. It didn't faze Stan in the slightest, but apparently Kyle wasn't taking it so well. He was visibly trembling and his eyes were wide, showing Stan a lot of the whites of his eyes. Kyle was terrified, for some reason.

"Shelley!" he reprimanded her, glancing at Kyle and placing a hand on his shoulder, calming Kyle down. "This is Kyle," he said.

His father's eyes searched Kyle, taking in his hat and his thin frame, pausing at his bandages and at the bruises and marks on his neck. "Kyle.. who?" he asked, frowning.

"Kyle Broflovski," Stan said, looking at his dad. The effect was instantaneous- Shelley guffawed.

"There he goes again, 'Kyle's alive!' Better lock up the knives and medications, dad," Cackling, Shelley made her way to the kitchen.

"Shut up!" Stan yelled after her, furious. Kyle shouldn't know, Kyle _couldn't _know what had happened while he was gone…

"Son," Randy Marsh started, "You know he's dead. I'm sorry, but he is. Making friends with people who look like him," he glanced at Kyle, "doesn't change the fact he's gone."

"Dad, this _is _Kyle. _The _Kyle. The," he made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "'dead' Kyle." Stan said, grinning at his dad's confused expression. His father looked at Kyle, then back to Stan, then to Kyle again. Finally he turned back to Stan.

"Did you take your medication today?" he asked. Stan didn't answer. "Sharon," his father called into the kitchen, "did Stan take his meds?"

"Uh-huh," his wife yelled back.

"Did _I _take one of your meds?"

"Nope," Stan said, laughing.

"Honey," Randy yelled again into the kitchen, "why is there a boy standing in our living room who is supposedly Kyle Broflovski?"

"_Will you just come into the goddamn kitchen for dinner?!" _Sharon yelled back.

* * *

At dinner, Stan's mother explained the circumstances and Kyle to Shelley and Randy, who took the news reasonably well, except for when she had said that Kyle would be living with them and Shelley had spat out her potatoes and exclaimed,

"You mean that little fucker's gonna be living with _us?!_"

Stan glanced at Kyle's plate. He had wolfed down in seconds the first food he had been given, as if it was about to be taken away from him any second.

"Want some more?" Kyle looked up and then saw the platter Stan was holding out for him. Slowly he nodded and speared a sausage on his fork and ate it.

"Thanks," he mumbled, his mouth full.

* * *

After dinner, he led Kyle up to his room.

"I got some homework to do, so see you later," he said, closing the door. "G'night." He walked over to his room and got started on his homework. Several math problems later, he realized Kyle didn't have any clothes or pajamas. He grabbed an old pair of pajamas from his dresser that would mostly fit Kyle's thin body and knocked on the door of Kyle's room. There was no, answer, so Stan swung the door open.

Kyle was curled up into a ball on the floor, facing the wall.

"Kyle?" he asked. He walked closer and saw how when Kyle curled up the hospital shirt rode up and Stan caught sight of some kind of strangely shaped scar or burn. He inched closer. "Can I see what's on your back?" Kyle sat up, looking terrified, staring at him wide-eyed. "It's ok," he said, trying to reassure him. "I just want to see your back. Just a quick peek, okay?" he said, trying to sound as much like Morgan Freeman as possible.

Kyle stared at him and then slowly nodded. Stan walked over to Kyle and squatted down and lifted up the back of his shirt just enough to see the mark.

It was a brand, one that Stan was familiar with- he had seen cows at his Uncle Jimbo's ranch getting branded. It was a painful process- the mark was burnt into the skin and after watching a cow undergo it he had given up beef for a while when he was younger as protest.

Kyle had been branded- a piece of property, a slab of meat, nothing more.

Stan felt nauseous and he clapped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room. He couldn't stand to be in that room with Kyle and that _thing _on his back.

Stan ran over to the toilet and heaved. A tear squeezed out of his eye as he vomited, feeling the taste on his tongue. After he was done, Stan flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth vigorously, then splashed water on his face. He felt dirty, unclean, for seeing Kyle's brand- something Kyle probably didn't want him to have seen.


	5. Chapter 5

That night Stan lay awake in bed. So much had happened that day- the events rushed through his mind and he found it hard to relax. Stan reached for his iPod charging by his bed, popped his earbuds in, and let the familiar wails of electric guitars and beating of drums sing him to sleep, a punk rock lullaby.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!" Stan woke up. Someone had screamed. He checked his clock- 2:38 in the morning. He threw off his covers and raced down the hall. He reached Kyle's bedroom. This was where the scream had come from, Stan reckoned. He opened the door. The crack of light from the hall widened enough for Stan to see Kyle, sitting upright in bed, panting, soaked in sweat.

"Kyle!" Stan exclaimed, turning on the light and rushing to his bedside. "You okay? What happened?"

"He was-" Kyle said, gasping. "I- I thought- he was there… he was…" Kyle touched his throat.

"It's alright," Stan said, relieved. "It was just a dream. He's gone. He's gone. Nobody can hurt you now. He's gone," he repeated, thankful that nothing serious had happened.

Kyle looked down at his knees, clenching the sheets in his fist. "I'm sorry I woke you up." He said.

"It's fine," Stan said. "I couldn't sleep anyway," he said. "Well, night. I'm back to bed," he said. He turned off the light and turned around, closing the door behind him.

"Wait," Kyle called after him. Stan opened the door again.

"Yeah?"

"Can you.. can you stay here with me?" Kyle asked. He was hunched over, arms around his knees, looking so small, so vulnerable. He looked almost like a child again, Stan thought. He smiled at his old friend, the lamplight making his bruises and marks on his neck seem even more vivid, more garish against his pale skin.

"Of course," Stan said, closing the door again and seating himself on the bed across from Kyle. Kyle smiled faintly.

"Thanks," he said, looking sheepish. Stan scooted across the bed so that he was next to Kyle and sat up, crossing his legs.

They sat like that in silence until Stan finally gave in to sleep and stretched out across the bed next to Kyle's still form.

Kyle looked down at his friend, now sleeping softly, a tuft of black hair covering his eyes. What had happened while he was gone? How had the last six years been, in this town that seemed outside of the rest of the world.

What happened to his childhood, to his memories of laughing with his best friend, fishing at Starks Pond, teasing Cartman and all those hours spent gaming and singing and playing… everyone and everything that had belonged to him, everything he kept close and safe had been taken away from him and now what was left? How could he begin to.. feel again?

When _he _had been hurting him, Kyle had learnt to close off his heart. Shut off his mind and his senses and just wrap his brain in static nothingness until _he _was satisfied.

That way Kyle didn't get hurt. That way he didn't have to feel anything, because nothing was at least better than mental and physical agony. Now people were saying that it was over now, that he was safe. That nice lady at the hospital… what had she said? "You have to open up and let it out."

But how? Kyle had long since closed his doors and thrown away the key. He didn't want to know what was inside him, didn't want to feel and recognize what had happened because then it would mean that it _had _really happened, and Kyle always thought that it was just a bad dream, he would wake up soon and it wouldn't be real because the only way to cope with reality was to say it wasn't.

And now he had woken up.

Kyle glanced at Stan, snoring gently, curled up next to him.

What had his friend been doing while he had been locked up and.. Kyle didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to remember. It was over now, he kept saying, but every creak of the floorboard, every little plink of water dropping from the faucet to the sink, every murmur, whisper, whistle and bump terrified him.

He couldn't sleep, so he just sat and watched as the sun slowly rose and light painted the walls, listening to the inhale and exhale of Stan's breath. The still form of his old friend, stretched out and relaxed, both comforted him and made him feel awkward for watching Stan sleep, as his shadow seemed to stretch and sit up as sunlight streamed into the room.

Kyle looked at the clock. It was almost 6:30 am. Stan would probably have to wake up soon. "Stan," he whispered. Stan was splayed across the bed on his back, legs akimbo. He made no sound.

"Stan," Kyle said again, firmer and louder this time. No answer. Kyle took one of Stan's arms and jiggled it uselessly in an attempt to wake him up. He let go of the arm and it flopped back down on the bed.

Was Stan okay? Was he hurt or… dead? Thoughts streaked across Kyle's mind. He bent down to Stan's face to hear his breathing. He was so close that their noses were touching. He couldn't hear anything at first, and then a slight, almost silent but definitely there- an exhale.

"Stan," Kyle said for the third time.

He repositioned himself so that his arms were on either side of Stan's chest, his head above and parallel to Stan's face, and then grasped Stan's shoulders and attempted to shake him awake.

"Nnnnn…" moaned Stan. Kyle grabbed the blankets and threw them off the bed to try to wake Stan up by getting him cold. Eyes still closed, Stan reached blindly for the covers and grabbed Kyle instead by accident, pulling Kyle to Stan's chest.

"Stan-you-I-" Kyle spluttered. Stan opened one eye, looked down at the red-faced boy who was stuck in his embrace and then stood up, suddenly, knocking Kyle over onto the carpet.

"Ah!" Stan exclaimed, "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to- I"

"It's fine," Kyle said, smiling faintly, picking his disgruntled self off the floor. They stood there for a moment awkwardly, both determinedly not looking at each other and focusing instead on the floor or the ceiling, pretending that the previous event had not just happened.

"I should get dressed," Stan said after a moment. Kyle looked up. "You know, for school," Stan gestured at his pajamas. Kyle nodded and Stan left the room.

* * *

That morning at breakfast, Stan and Kyle ate their breakfast, red-faced, pretending the incident that morning hadn't happened and avoiding each other's eyes. After Stan finished his cereal, he grabbed his backpack and left for school with a simple "See ya," trudging into the snowy urban wilderness of his town.

Stan joined Cartman and Kenny at the school gates, who greeted him with a "Yo," from Kenny and a "Sup, fag?" from Cartman.

"Guys," he said, "you're not going to believe this."

"You got laid?!" Kenny said.

"You're pregnant?" Cartman said. Stan scowled at him.

"So what was it like?" Kenny asked.

"What was what like?"

"You know.." Kenny made a circle with his forefinger and thumb and made a "finger in the hole" movement.

"You know, not everything is about sex," Stan said, rolling his eyes.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it is."

Stan sighed. He didn't want to argue. Not today, at least. "Remember Kyle?"

"You mean that stupid Jew ginger fuckwad?" Cartman said, taking a candy bar out of his pocket and biting into it.

"Yes, that Kyle."

"So?" Kenny asked.

"He's alive," Stan said after a moment's hesitation. Cartman laughed and Kenny raised an eyebrow.

"Haha yeah, and my mom's a penguin," Cartman guffawed.

"That would make a lot of sense, actually," Kenny said.

"No, I mean he's really alive," Stan said, a pleading tone in his voice. "They found him about five days ago,"

"You mean they found his body." Kenny said.

"No- he was kidnapped. He was found in- in Denver, I think, and he was at the hospital for a while. But now he's living with us." Stan finished, plunging his hands into his pockets.

"So.. Kyle's pregnant." Cartman said, looking confused.

"No! Nobody is pregnant!" Stan yelled. Cartman laughed.

"So why was he at the hospital if he isn't pregnant?" Cartman asked, still laughing.

"He got kidnapped, fatass," Stan said.

"So?"

"Do you know what happens to kidnapped kids?!"

"Why should I care what happens to that stupid Jew?" That was too much for Stan. He ran over and tackled Cartman, knocking him to the ground, throwing a punch blindly into his stomach.

"Jesus!" Kenny exclaimed and dragged Stan off of Cartman by the collar of his coat. Stan struggled against Kenny for a moment and then went limp. Kenny dropped Stan from the sudden increase of weight and Stan got up and brushed his jeans off, breathing heavily.

"Shit, man," Cartman groaned, rubbing his round stomach where Stan had punched him. "It was just a joke,"

"Well, it wasn't funny," Stan said darkly. He turned and walked away.

* * *

As the bell rang, marking the period for lunch and students burst out of the classrooms like water bursting out of a broken dam, Stan joined the flood of people and swam to the cafeteria. He went to go sit down with Kenny and Cartman but was surprised to not find them there. Usually Cartman was the first one out of class and into the cafeteria, ordering three meals and then coming back for more. But today Stan couldn't see them amidst the crowd of hair and heads and hats and noise.

"So," said a voice behind him. Stan whirled around to find Wendy, hands on her hips, not looking happy.

"Uh.. can I help you?"

"So I heard that Kyle is alive," she said, looking at him with a gaze that could melt iron.

"Yeah, he is," Stan said defensively.

"Is this like.. last time? Where you thought-"

"No," Stan cut her off. "No, it's not like last time. It's for real. He's like, _alive. _You know. Not dead." he added helpfully. She stared at him for a minute longer, sizing him up, as if she was trying to see if he would wilt under her laser glare.

She stormed off and melted into the glob of bodies. Stan shrugged and made his way to his usual seat, only to find Cartman beating up one of the new freshmen and Kenny sitting dangerously close to a girl Stan had never seen before. Kenny looked over his shoulder at Stan, grinned, and mouthed, "look at the tits on this one." Stan rolled his eyes and made his way over to his friends.


	6. Chapter 6

Stan opened the door to his home and yelled, "I'm home," into the hallway. He made his way into the living room and dropped his backpack, stopping only in the kitchen to grab a bag of potato chips and headed up the stairs to his room. He paused by Kyle's room. The door was partly open, and Stan could see a chink of light shining through. He entered.

Kyle was curled up on his bed, just laying there, doing nothing. Stan stepped into the room.

"You okay?" Kyle looked up and nodded. "What did you do today?" Stan seated himself on the corner of the bed. Kyle sat up and leaned against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest. He looked so tired, so vulnerable, exposed. "…did you do anything today?" Stan asked.

Kyle didn't answer. Stan stood up and stretched. "You should go do something," he said. "You know, go for a walk, go to the movies, get out and do stuff."

Slowly Kyle nodded. Stan leaned over, grabbed Kyle's hand, and pulled him off the bed, forcing him to stand up.

Kyle was wearing a pair of Stan's jeans, which completely dwarfed him. Kyle was holding onto his jeans so that they wouldn't fall down, and they enveloped his bare feet. He looked as if he was drowning in Stan's shirt.

Stan noticed that Kyle was the same height as Stan, but he was much, much skinnier than Stan had anticipated.

"Let's go get you some clothes," Stan said, scrutinizing Kyle, trying to decide what size he would be. Kyle shrank back.

"I don't have any money," he mumbled.

"It's fine. My treat," Stan said, as he walked out of the room to grab his coat. Kyle slinked after him. "C'mon," he said, gesturing to the now open door. "The mall's just a 15 minute walk away."

They stepped out into the brisk November air, feeling the cold air like needles on their face. They had barely walked a few steps before Stan noticed Kyle was shivering, his nose red, hunched over, hands rubbing his arms desperately trying to warm up.

"That's right," Stan said, remembering. "You don't have a coat. Here," he said, shrugging his coat off his back and draping it around Kyle.

"Thanks," Kyle murmured, smiling at Stan. They walked in silence, listening to the symphony of leaves crackling and crunching under their feet.

They arrived at the mall, stepping into the warmth of the fluorescently lit building. There were people everywhere, and stores, and groups of giggling girls gathered around a cellphone or a store, couples walking around, the male usually looking bored out of his mind, mothers and their children buying clothes.

There were so many people, so many voices and noises and the light was so bright and white and.. Kyle felt nauseous.

"You okay?" Stan asked, coming into view, looking concerned. Kyle opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. "Everything's fine," he said, giving him a reassuring smile. "I promise," he said. Kyle was shaking, his face ashen and grey. Stan took his hand and squeezed.

"Th-there's so many people," Kyle whispered eventually.

"Do you want to go home?" Stan asked. Kyle shook his head.

"I'll be fine," he said, _as long as you're here, _he thought, but didn't say. He didn't want to freak Stan out. Stan smiled at him.

"'Kay," he said, but didn't let go of Kyle's hand. Kyle didn't make any effort to pull away- having someone there with him, a bond between them, both comforted and made him uneasy at the same time. He hadn't seen much of people the last six years, and he hadn't seen the good side.

* * *

After going into a few stores and such, Stan and Kyle ran into Bebe and Wendy, classmates of Stan's.

"Hey guys," Bebe waved at them, arms laden with shopping bags. She saw Kyle and looked him up and down, and then again.

In front of her, holding hands with Stan, was a thin boy with a bandage around his head and on his wrists, and, she noticed, his ankles, as well as bruises and other strange marks she couldn't identify on his neck. He was wearing an old green hat and clothes which Bebe recognized to be Stan's, but were much too big for this boy.

"Who's.. this?" Bebe asked. "You got a boyfriend?" she said, giggling.

Stan laughed. "No, this is Kyle," he said.

Bebe's brow furrowed. "Kyle.. who?"

"Broflovski," Stan said defiantly.

Wendy facepalmed. "Oh, god. This is what I told you about, Bebe,"she looked at Stan. "He's dead, Stan. I thought you got over that ages ago," she reprimanded him.

"B-but I _am _Kyle," Kyle said after a minute.

"No way," Bebe said. "No _way," _she repeated, raising her voice and looking at Kyle, sizing him up.

"But- that's impossible!" stammered Wendy shrilly. "He's _dead- _that's what everyone said!" Looking from Kyle to Stan to Bebe and to Kyle again. Kyle shrank back, hiding behind Stan, clutching his arm. Stan could feel Kyle's heartbeat from Kyle's chest which was pressed to his back, rapidly beating.

"Quiet," Stan commanded, raising his hands to try to get the frenzied girls' attention. They hushed. "Kyle was kidnapped. He was only just found, and he's staying with me for the time being," he said, trying to put an end to the argument. Wendy opened her mouth then closed it again, at a loss for words.

"Kyle?" Bebe said, looking behind Stan at the boy clutching onto him for dear life. "Sorry I scared you. I just couldn't believe it's you, you know… well anyway, sorry. See ya, I guess," she said and bounced off with Wendy. "Oh, and Kyle?" she called over her shoulder. Kyle peeked his head out from behind Stan.

"Nice ass," she yelled after him as she sauntered off, arm in arm with her friend Wendy.

* * *

The rest of the week went along pretty normal. Kyle was having therapy twice a week and seemed to be getting better. Every night however, he was still waking up from his nightmares, screaming, and Stan would always come into his room and sleep with him until morning. Stan didn't mind too much, although his teachers certainly minded when he fell asleep in class, drooling on his history textbook.

"The hell is wrong with you?" Cartman said after one class where Stan had fallen asleep, gotten reprimanded by the teacher, and then fallen asleep again. Stan yawned.

"Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, you've fallen asleep like a billion times this week. Don't you get any sleep at home?!"

"I know why he's not sleeping," Kenny started, a devious grin on his face. "or rather, he has been sleeping… with someone else. Am I right or am I right?"

"Wha- no." Stan laughed.

"Then what is it? The fairies keep you up? You takin' tips from Tweak?" Cartman scoffed.

"Nothing really," Stan said. "I've just been sleeping with Kyle these past couple of nights."

"Ha! I was right! But Stan doesn't have a girlfriend, Stanny-poo has a widdle boyfriend!" Kenny shouted with glee. "Ya hear that, everyone? Stan's got a bo~yfriend!" He yelled even louder, cupping his hands to his mouth so everyone in the hall could hear him. Immediately the air filled with titters and giggles and nervous laughter.

"No I do not!" Stan said angrily. "We're sharing the same bed, and I stay up with him because he can't sleep! That's all there is to it!" Cartman shrugged.

"Sharing the same bed is still faggy anyway." He turned around and then started to walk to his next class, then whirled around, and walking backwards pointed at Stan, taunting him with sneers of "gay! Gay!" and pointing accusingly at Stan. Kenny snickered. Stan rolled his eyes and headed to biology.

* * *

Stan arrived home late that day, due to the fact that Cartman had detained his leave, yelling something about how Stan was a menace to society and then a bunch of weird girls who Stan knew to be anime fangirls or something like that kept surrounding him and asking him about his feelings and his boyfriend and something called moe, which Stan had no intention of learning about after a couple months ago, when those same girls had explained what yaoi was.

He headed to the kitchen and grabbed a poptart and a glass of milk. Closing the fridge door, he saw his mom sitting on the table, typing something.

"Hey, mom," Stan said. "Where's Kyle?" Sharon thought for a moment, her brow furrowing. She seemed to do a lot of that lately, so much that her forehead looked like crumpled paper.

"He went on a walk, I think." she said. "Just a while ago."

_"What?" _Stan dropped his backpack.

"..what?" his mother asked quizzically.

"Remember last time he took a walk?! Remember what happened to him?" Stan stressed. She smiled.

"Relax, honey. I think Kyle will be fine. Anyway, it's good for him to get some fresh air after being cooped up in the house all day." She spoke as if Kyle were a pet, a cute cat or dog that didn't need much care.

"I'm gonna go check up on him," Stan said, putting his coat back on and rushing out the door.

"I'm sure he's alright," his mother called after him, but he was already gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Oh my god, 32 reviews! 10 follows! Gaaaahhhh! Sorry. I'm just kinda fangirling over here… I honestly didn't expect people would like this! To all those who follow, favorite, review, or don't but just read it and like it, thank you so much. I, as well as Kyle, have been dealing with my own demons right now and your positive feedback just makes my day so much better. _

_And to Layra, who keeps leaving comments saying "please update", don't worry. I __**will **__update on schedule this week, and stay according to schedule most of the time. For those who don't know, I update on Mondays and Wednesdays, usually. _

_So Layra, you can keep leaving these comments if you choose, because I don't mind, but I don't want to cause you any anxiety or whatever, so you don't feel the need to repeatedly ask "please update." J_

_Since this chapter is really short (but I put a lot of time and effort and shitty metaphors into it), I'm just updating today (Sunday), and then I will update on Wednesday like normal. _

_So. Enough of me. Let's get lost (ha ha it's funny because that's the name of the story) in the story! _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Stan ran down the sidewalk, panting as his feet slapped the concrete. He reached a corner and stopped, looking around for any sign of Kyle.

To his left was the old part by his house he used to play at… wait.

Who was that, in the park?

That lone figure, sitting on an old swing all alone, hands grasping the rusted chains like a lifeline and staring up at the sky, transfixed, empty swings swaying in the wind, ridden by ghosts of all the memories past in that park, all those kids who used to play there until the sandbox was filled with trash and the teenagers graffitied the slides with swear words and the stoners started partying there and filling the area with broken shards of glass and spit mixed with alcohol and boy/girl juice and used condoms, until even the stoners didn't want to hang there anymore.

"Kyle!" Stan yelled. The figure didn't seem to hear him, or if it did, it didn't respond.

Stan ran across the road and over to the park, sprinting towards that lone figure. As he approached Stan saw that it was Kyle, his eyes filled with sky.

"Kyle," he panted. He didn't answer, even though Stan was in front of him.

He was mesmerized, in some sort of trance, staring up at the blank white sky. His eyes seemed far off, like they were in another place and his body was slack, although his hands were gripping the chains tightly so that his knuckles were almost as white as the sky.

"Kyle," he said again, helplessly, cupping Kyle's face in his hands. "Oh god, Kyle." He shook Kyle's shoulders, desperately trying to wake him, but Kyle was lost and Stan didn't know where and oh god what has happening was this normal was Kyle okay what the fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… Stan repeated the word over and over in his head, panicking. He collapsed to his knees, clutching Kyle in his arms as Kyle sat on the low, sagging swing.

"Please wake up," he pleaded. "Oh god, wake up, please, Kyle. I-" he faltered. "I don't want to lose you again."

Tears flooded his eyes and spilled over and Stan held Kyle even tighter. "I won't let you go," he said, his voice thick of tears. "Don't leave me,"

.

.

.

"The sky…" Kyle's voice was there, barely, almost imperceptible, but it was there. "The sky… it is a blank page of a story. But where are the words? What is the story of and what does it tell? What is the story with no words nor pictures, and is it a story? Or is it just paper, a scrap, to be thrown away and crumpled up and discarded but never fulfill its purpose?"

"..what?"

"The sky is empty, a void, nothing more. How can I fill it? How can I give it the words when I have none myself? How… can I.." his voice trailed off.

"We'll-We'll give it words." Stan whispered. "We'll fill it with our words, our stories. We'll grow words and cultivate them and harvest syllables, nouns, vowels and pour it into the sky and we'll fill it up. You and me both. Together, okay?"

He held out his hand. Kyle reached out hesitantly then paused, glancing up at Stan's face. Stan smiled reassuringly. Kyle took his hand and Stan helped him up. "Together," Stan said again, not letting go of Kyle's hand.

"And if a person is empty? A shell, no feelings, not even know how to feel," Kyle's voice quivered. "how can you fill someone like that?"

"There are certain words," Stan started, not knowing where he was going. "special words. Magical words that can fill someone up and make them feel so… _full _of emotion and feeling and words beyond describing, words that can heal and destroy and create and raze civilizations, words that are the bricks and mortar of mankind, that can fill anyone up, no matter how empty. Words that a person can live on, feed off of just by hearing them. Words more precious than money or oil or gold."

"What are the words?"

"I- I don't know," Stan said truthfully. "Not at the moment anyway. But I know they exist, and I know that we can find them. Together," he added. He looked down from the sky and over at Kyle and with a start noticed that Kyle was crying silently, a tear tracing down his cheek. Kyle felt his gaze and looked over at Stan and smiled faintly. Stan squeezed Kyle's hand and smiled back at him.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time the two boys had gotten home, it had started raining and they were both soaked. Stan had insisted on Kyle wearing his jacket, but they were still tightly holding hands. Kyle didn't want to let go, When they did, it felt like he was severing the tie between him and Stan. When he was holding hands with Stan, his heart seemed to almost ache, and yet it felt like it was swelling and dancing and filling Kyle with.. emotion, the first time he had felt an emotion other than fear, and he felt warm no matter how cold it was, and something else, a sense he couldn't put his finger on.

* * *

As they stepped into the warmth of Stan's house, Sharon called out,

"Stan! Some friends are waiting for you in your room!" Still holding Kyle's hand, Stan, with Kyle in tow headed up the stairs and entered Stan's bedroom.

Cartman was sitting on Stan's bed next to Kenny, who was leaning against the wall. Cartman's eyes widened when he saw Kyle, and then narrowed when he saw Stan and Kyle's connected hands. A smirk formed itself on his face.

"Sup, fag?" he said. "Wait. No. _Fags." _Stan quickly let go of Kyle's hand and Kyle felt his heart twist for reasons he could not explain.

"You know, this really isn't helping us to believe that you're not gay," Kenny said, "especially not when you come in holding hands with some random boy."

"Yeah, who is he, anyway? Is he your _boyfriend?_" Cartman sneered. Stan turned bright red.

"He- he's Kyle." He said quietly. "Kyle Broflovski," he said again, louder this time. Kenny snickered.

"Guess Cartman's mom really is a penguin," he said, laughing.

"Ay!" Cartman yelled. "No, she's not!"

"No, you're right, she's not a penguin." Kenny said seriously. "She's a dirty slut." He burst out laughing again, doubling over as his body shook with laughter. Stan laughed along with Kenny while Cartman scowled.

Kyle stood there, looking at Stan with a sort of questioning look. Stan glanced at him and then realized- Kyle wouldn't know what Cartman and Kenny looked like after all those years.

"Kyle," he said, "This is Cartman and Kenny. Remember them?" Kyle looked at him, shocked.

"C-Cartman?" he asked. "Kenny? It's really you?"

"Well who else would we be?" Cartman said, obviously still miffed about Kenny's jab at his mother.

"You're still fat." Kyle said after a minute's pause. Kenny laughed.

"Alright, now I'm sure this is the real Kyle," he slid off the windowsill and hugged Kyle tightly. "Missed ya, bro." he said.

"..ow." Kyle said in return. Kenny pulled away.

"What?"

"No, it's nothing." Kyle shook his head.

"Well if it was nothing, it wouldn't hurt," Kenny said, looking concerned.

"Ah, who cares about the stupid jew," Cartman complained. "He got what he deserved,"

Stan charged over, grabbing the collar of Cartman's shirt in his fist, bringing his fat smiling face up to his. "Nobody deserves that. _Nobody._" He growled.

"Kyle did," Cartman smirked. Stan threw a punch into his gut and simultaneously slammed him against the wall.

"STOP!" Kyle screamed. It was the loudest Stan had heard him since he had come back. Stan paused and Cartman pushed him off of himself.

"Don't touch me, fag." He sneered. Stan raised his arm as if to strike Cartman again but Kyle rushed to him and grabbed his arm, stopping it from coming down in a blow to Cartman's head. Stan looked at Kyle in surprise, and then slowly lowered his arm.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Cartman stood up.

"Well nice seeing you, but I don't want to disturb you two. I'm sure you're very busy… what was it? _Sleeping _together. I expect a wedding invitation soon," he waved and headed out of the room and Kenny followed. Stan heard them tromp down the stairs and out the door and breathed a sigh of relief. The two of them stood there silently for a moment, breathing heavily.

"You should take off your clothes," Stan said suddenly.

_"What?" _

"You're wet. You're leaving a puddle on my floor." Stan pointed out. Kyle looked down at his feet and saw a wet splotch underneath his and Stan's feet.

"Do you.. do you think I could maybe take a shower?" Kyle asked.

"Go right ahead," Stan said. "Bathroom's over there." Kyle stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. A couple seconds later Stan heard the water running. He flopped down on his bed, yawning. After a minute or two Stan realized Kyle didn't have any towels and so he grabbed some and without thinking, opened the bathroom door.

"Ack!" Stan exclaimed, closing the door suddenly. Kyle was naked from the waist up, back facing Stan.

"It's fine," Kyle replied, his voice muffled by the door. "You can come in." Stan tentatively opened the door.

"I brought you a towel," he said, embarrassed at having intruded on Kyle. Kyle smiled and took the towel graciously.

"Thanks."

It was only then that Stan noticed how terribly thin Kyle was, despite his mother's best efforts to fatten him up. His ribs and collarbones protruded out from Kyle's white skin. His whole body looked like a twig, with the slightest touch, it would snap in two.

All over Kyle's chest, stomach, back and arms were ugly scars, some old, some newer. Stan also saw painful welts raised on Kyle's back and arms, and whip marks. He felt dizzy and stumbled, holding the counter for support, breathing heavily. Waves of nausea hit Stan and he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to puke.

"Stan? _Stan!"_ Stan opened his eyes, taking in Kyle's concerned face hovering above his. He blinked. "You almost passed out. Are you alright?" Kyle queried.

"I- I- yeah. I'm fine," Stan replied. Kyle helped him get to his feet.

"You don't look fine,"

_"You're _the one who doesn't look fine! What the hell happened to you?! Who… who did that to you?" Stan exploded. Kyle looked away.

"I-he…"

Stan's expression softened. "It's okay," he said. "You don't have to tell me now. We'll save that story for another time.

"No. I'll tell," Kyle said, a grim look of determination set in his face. "I'll tell you everything."


	9. Chapter 9

_~Previously~_

_"You're the one who doesn't look fine! What the hell happened to you?! Who… who did that to you?" Stan exploded. Kyle looked away._

_"I-he…" Stan's expression softened._

_"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to tell me now. We'll save that story for another time."_

_"No. I'll tell," Kyle said, a grim look of determination set in his face. "I'll tell you everything."_

* * *

"If can't tell you, I can't tell anyone." He seated himself on the counter. "I don't remember much from the early days," he started. "I think I tried to block it from my memory, but- I remember…

"He was an addict. Meth, cocaine, heroin, whatever was around he did it. He didn't have much money, so he did whatever he had to to get his stash.

"Once he 'lent' me to his dealer in return for some crank. High off his own drugs, he did… terrible things to me. Things no sane person would do. Although, to tell the truth, neither of us were quite sane at that time."

_He lay face down on the grubby floor, hands held behind his back. He had stopped struggling long ago, best to just stay quiet and take the pain, if you struggled it hurt more. _

_He did what he always did, closed his mind, and pretended, as always, this wasn't happening, none of this had happened, he would wake up soon, … he felt the pain then, between his legs, and then a different kind of pain, thin, slicing, and then growing, enveloping him, felt the coolness of metal and the heat of blood, heard screams… who was screaming? _

_Him, he realized, as a hand clapped around his mouth… Kyle closed his eyes and waited for it to end._

* * *

Kyle pulled his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Do you want to stop?" Stan asked, placing his arm around Kyle's shoulder. Kyle shook his head, took a shaky breath, and started again.

"Once when he was passed out, I tried to run, but he found me. He always found me. He was so angry… bloodshot eyes and puke encrusted his mouth but still he got me."

_'You're mine, you piece of filth, you got that?!' he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, yellow teeth showing. 'you belong to me, I own you. You have no emotions, no feeling, no nothin', you ain't even human! All of you is mine, your dirty little punk-ass is mine. You're a freak, no one would even want you! You're lucky I took you in, your parents dropped you off, begged me to take you in. you ought to be grateful, an' you just run off! I'll teach you to be grateful!' _

_Kyle tried to struggle, but against rage's grip, he was nothing. A sharp blow to the back of the head knocked him to the ground and he tried to crawl away, but was held down, dirty claws scraping at his arms and legs, trapping him… he felt the hot metal on his back, smelt the burning flesh, tried to scream and was hit again… blood trickled out of his mouth, he could taste it, metallic and hot as the brand roasting his lower back…a tear squeezed out of the corner of his eye, stinging like lemon juice- no he wasn't going to cry, he couldn't cry, he would get hit- and laughter as his head was whacked once again, slamming against the floor and he passed out to the sound of insane laughter._

Kyle twisted around and pointed to the brand on his back. "He gave me this as a reminder to me and his customers that I belonged to him.

"He would trade me off for periods of time, a slave, a prostitute, a plaything, in exchange for money, for drugs, whatever he wanted. Some people weren't too bad. Others… well, their mark was lasting." He traced some of his scars with his finger, his eyes glistening. "He liked to hurt me- he would tie me up, cut me, whip me, strangle or half drown me, dunking my head in water and holding it down. He liked to watch me struggle, liked hearing me scream, liked seeing my blood."

"Did he.. molest you?" Stan asked hesitantly.

Kyle closed his eyes as a tear trickled down his cheek. "Yes. And.. and he raped me, and others did too, many times. Eventually I just stopped struggling, just lay and waited for it to end." He buried his face in his arms.

Stan, with his arm still around his shoulders, hugged him in close, feeling Kyle's sobs racking his body like a single leaf blowing in the wind.

"How did you get the bruises, the marks on your neck?" Stan had a vague feeling he shouldn't be asking so many questions, but he had to know, a sort of sick curiosity filling him.

"He liked to torture me, play 'games' with me. One he liked was strangling me to the brink of death and then releasing me and watch me try to breathe. Anyway, he had chained me to the wall and then was suffocating me, hands around my throat like an iron vice…" Kyle shuddered and touched his neck gently and briefly. "He was going too far, I was about to die, I could feel my body shutting down.."

* * *

_His vision was gone, the noises too loud, everything hurt, he ached and ached and he could feel his lungs desperately reaching for air that wasn't there, could taste the tinge of blood, metallic, rusty and salty in his mouth. _

_Without knowing why or how he kicked out his leg and hit _him _square in the chest, toppling him over and releasing his grasp on his throat. _

_Kyle collapsed, retching, gasping for air, his lungs expanding and contracting, beginning to work again, and vomited. He waited for the whack of a fist or something, but it didn't come. _

_He looked up. He could barely make out the image of _him _through the blindfold. _He _was lying on the ground, blood trickling down his head. _

_When Kyle had hit him, he had hit his head on the concrete floor, fracturing his skull. As _he _lay there, dying slowly, Kyle felt… triumph? He had won. He had beaten _him.

_And then, next, came revulsion. Kyle had killed _him. _Kyle had killed another human being, and as awful as that person was, he had killed someone and was happy about it, for a while, and now… he was a murderer. He was filth, scum, a killer…._

_And as the days wore on, for Kyle was still chained to a wall next to a dead man, unmoving, stagnant, Kyle knew he was going to die too. Unable to reach food or water or warmth, he could feel himself almost decaying already. He had killed another man, and now he was going to die too…_

_He heard the door being kicked open… one of _his _friends? _His _dealer? Death was better than whatever would become of him next… he closed his eyes and waited for death to come. _


	10. Chapter 10

_~Previously~_

_Kyle had killed a man and now the police were after him, he was a lost cause, he would rather die here than in the electric chair, he was a dead man…_

_Kyle heard him trekking through the apartment, getting dangerously close to his position. He closed his eyes and waited for death to come._

* * *

"After that.. I was starving to death. I was really weak, and chained to the wall, and I think I was passed out when they found me. They said I was on the brink of death. That they had saved me.

"I woke up in a hospital, disoriented and confused. I didn't know… well, I didn't know anything at that point."

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Kyle opened his eyes. The first thought that came into his head was.. white. White walls, white linoleum floor, white sheets, white bed, white clothes…_

Is this Heaven?_ Kyle thought. If it was, he didn't like it very much. He blinked and opened his eyes again, this time they focused and he saw where he really was. _

_A hospital._

_He was in a hospital, with tubes connected to his wrists and up his nose and sensors on his chest and a machine next to him that kept recording his heartbeat, little mountains of green rising and falling in time to his heart._

_A nurse passed by, then stopped, and noticing he was awake, hurried towards him. _

_"You're awake? Oh, good. We were worried about you." She smiled awkwardly. Kyle noticed that her too-red lipstick was also on her teeth, looking like her gums were bleeding 'midnight passion'. _

_"You're a very brave boy, you know," she said, as if he were a toddler. She stood there for a minute, looking like she didn't know what to do. Eventually she brought her hand up and patted Kyle on the head, then turned and stiffly walked away. Kyle reached up and felt his head where she had patted him._

_He hadn't been touched like that since… well, since a long time ago. He had always been handled roughly, quick, get the job done, no affection or love or warmth in anyone's probing, groping, stifling intrusions._

_Kyle closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, the first peaceful rest he had had in a long time._

"I stayed in the hospital for around a week, I think. Then you came, and, well, here I am."

_Kyle was agitated. Every noise, all the beeps and screams and heels clacking on the floor and all the multitudes of busybodies passing through the hospital everyday was overwhelming him, a boy who had been kept in the dark for so long. He kept looking out the window, knowing that _he _was going to come and take him away again, because Kyle knew he wasn't safe, he was never safe, _he _knew everything and everyone and every time he tried to run away or escape he was caught back in _his _clutches and there was nothing Kyle could do about it, he saw _him _in everyone's face, heard _him _in everyone's stomping gait, saw _his _cruel expression in children's faces as they burned ants with a magnifying glass underneath Kyle's hospital window._

_Every time the nurse or doctor came in he jumped, afraid it was _him. _As his stay in the hospital progressed, Kyle started getting better, the wounds on his neck and head healing. He couldn't sleep, and lack of rest and anxiety combined made him more jumpy and nervous than ever._

_Everyday a social worker came to see Kyle and attempted to get what happened over the past 6 years out of Kyle, but he wouldn't speak. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to remember, didn't want to acknowledge that the past 6 years had been real. But more than anything else, he didn't really feel like he had anything to say. _

_After around a week in the hospital, and he was showing visible signs of regaining his health, the hospital had no choice but to turn him out. He was taking up space, and as the social workers fretted, trying to find his family, they turned to the next closest thing Kyle had to a family in Colorado._

_The Marshes._

* * *

"After around a week in the hospital, the hospital had to make me leave. I was taking up a bed that other people needed, and as they couldn't find my family, they asked me if there was anyone else I knew who could take care of me."

_"This is very important, Kyle," the social worker said, peering over her clipboard at Kyle. She was very short and round and pink, and reminded Kyle a bit like an inflated beach ball. He wondered if she would deflate and become skinny if he poked her with a pin. _

_"Kyle? Are you listening?" Kyle looked up, and slowly nodded an affirmation. "We can't get a hold of your biological family. We can't just make you leave without you having some place to go. If you can remember someone who can take care of you, a close family friend or distant relative of some sort, that you could stay with, that would be great." She chewed on the tip of her pen._

_"Otherwise, we can put you in a foster home, which is just as good, but it may be good for your mental health for you to be around people you knew. Do you remember anyone?" _

_For the first time since Kyle had been rescued, he opened his mouth and sound came out._

_"Stan. Stan Marsh." _


	11. Chapter 11

"And, well, that's it. I mean, you can already kind of see what happened." He gestured to the scars and bruises on his body and neck. Stan wasn't sure how to take this information, so he did what seemed the natural thing to do. He put his arms around Kyle even tighter and held him close, so that Kyle's head was nestled in the hollow of his chest, his bushy hair tickling Stan's collarbones.

Kyle accepted the embrace gratefully, adjusting his position so it was easier for Stan. They stayed like that for a while, feeling the gentle rising of Stan's chest.

A single tear peeled away from the corner of Kyle's eye, trickling down his cheek. Embarrassed, he rubbed the tear away, hoping Stan hadn't noticed.

Too late. "What's wrong?" Stan asked, a twinge of concern present in his voice.

"Nothing's wrong," Kyle said after a minute. "It's just- I've never felt this happy before." He sniffed and brushed away another tear. "No. More like, this is the first time I've… _felt _before. Felt something good." He laughed nervously. "That's pretty stupid, huh?"

"Not at all." Stan said comfortingly, wiping another tear off of Kyle's cheek. "I'm glad that I could be the first one to make you feel good. And, for me too… I haven't felt like this in a long time." Stan grasped Kyle's shoulders and pulled him up so that their faces were parallel, their eyes searching each other.

"Thank you, Kyle." He leaned in, pulling Kyle's face to his… he was painfully aware of the feel of Kyle against his chest, the touch of his skin… their lips were almost touching-

"Stan." He opened his eyes. Kyle was looking at him, a concerned look painted on his face.

"Y-yeah?"

"Your heart is beating really fast. Are you okay?"

Stan pulled away from Kyle, his face bright red. What was he just about to have done? Would he have.. _kissed_ Kyle? Kyle was his best friend, and a _guy_, and besides, would Kyle have wanted… this?

After just being rescued barely two weeks ago, after six years of hell, six years of sexual and physical abuse, would he want to return to anything remotely like that?

He flinched every time he was touched, jumped at sudden noises, woke up screaming in the middle of the night… Stan didn't want to subject Kyle to any unwanted attention, sexual or not.

What mattered now was Kyle, not Stan's feelings. And Stan couldn't disrespect that.

And yet… when Stan held Kyle, he snuggled in close, when they hugged, they seemed to stay wrapped in each other's arms longer than a standard friendly hug, when they held hands it felt as if they were bound to each other, two souls reaching, grasping, and finding each other. Hell, they even shared a bed most nights and Kyle didn't seem to mind!

_Although, _Stan thought, _kissing is completely different. Maybe it's best to just stay low for a while. Keep your emotions at bay. I mean, Kyle did it for six years; I can do it too- at least just until Kyle starts to get better._

* * *

"Stan? _Stan?" _Kyle's panicked voice broke through Stan's thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Are- are you okay?" Kyle asked, biting his lip nervously. Even when he was panicking and anxious, Kyle still looked adorable, a tuft of red curly hair sticking out between the folds of the bandages on his head, forehead creased by concern.

"I'm fine," Stan said hastily, smiling uneasily.

"You don't look fine," Kyle said. He leaned over and pressed up against Stan even more, putting his hand to Stan's forehead. "You're sweating. And your heart is still beating really fast. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Stan hurried over the words, his tongue almost tripping over itself as he rushed to spit the words out.

"No, you're not," Kyle said obstinately. "Come on. Let's get you into bed."

"No, I don't need to sleep. Just get off of me."

"Not until you go to bed," Kyle said, leaning back and folding his arms defiantly. Stan sighed and trudged out of the bathroom, followed by shirtless Kyle, closed his door, and went over to his bed but didn't get it. "Get in bed." Kyle said again, showing much more confidence and leadership than ever, although it was clear he was still nervous.

"Make me," Stan said, a hint of a smile across his lips. He knew Kyle didn't have the guts to force him to sleep.

To his surprise, Kyle grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him down onto the bed. Stan struggled against him, but Kyle was weaker. He released his grip on Stan, and Stan started to rise off the bed, but before he could fully get up, Kyle had jumped up onto the bed, straddling Stan's hips.

Under the sudden increase of weight, Stan was forced to relent and lay onto the bed on his back with Kyle still balanced on his pelvis. They sat like that for a minute, red-faced, until Stan bent his knees up, causing Kyle to fly forward on his arms and knees on top of Stan, his legs on either side of Stan's hips and his arms on either side of Stan's shoulders.

"I-" Stan sputtered, as the door swung open.

They both looked at Mrs. Marsh, standing in the doorway, eyes wide and her mouth forming a perfect 'o'. Slowly she closed the door again and they heard her walk back down the stairs.

Redfaced, Kyle looked down at Stan beneath him. Stan stared back, and all of a sudden, they didn't know who had started, but they were laughing, really laughing, as tears formed in the pit of Kyle's eye, tears of laughter, for the first time in six years.

He collapsed against Stan's heaving, sputtering, still laughing chest, and he felt Stan's arms wrap around him, holding him in close, so close that Stan could feel Kyle's heart beating and Kyle could hear Stan's, so close that their percussion hearts seemed to mold and become one. They stayed like that for a while, just Stan embracing Kyle – or was it Kyle embracing Stan, he didn't know and didn't care.


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning Kyle woke up, still shirtless and wrapped in Stan's arms. With a start, he realized that this was the first time he had slept all through the night, not waking in a sweat or nightmare-induced fervor with a scream.

Suddenly, he noticed Stan was shirtless too and that Kyle's legs were wrapped around Stan. What had happened last night? Did something.. happen between the two of them? Kyle recalled the previous night's experiences. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And him and Stan were just friends, right? Really close friends, but still…

If they were just friends, then why did he feel this way?

Why did Kyle feel so comfortable, so- _safe_ around Stan and no one else? Why did he just want to touch him and be touched, why did he feel like his heart was exploding every time he got close to Stan, and why did he _like _it?

The more he thought, the more evident the conclusion was.

* * *

Stan awoke, the sunlight filtering in through the window infiltrating his eyelids. He blinked twice, yawned, and stretched his arms. It was cold now, unlike the previous night when Stan took his shirt off because of the heat. He reached down over the side of the bed to grab it and then stopped and frowned.

Someone's legs were wrapped around his midsection.

Or, to be more precise, Kyle's legs were wrapped around his middle.

Stan felt himself grow hot. Maybe he didn't need his shirt after all. He fell back onto the bed and turned onto his side so he was facing Kyle. With a start, Stan saw that Kyle's eyes were wide open, green staring into blue.

"H-hi," he said hesitantly. Kyle blushed.

Wait.

What?

Kyle… _blushed?! _Blushed, as in embarrassed blushed? blushed, as in 'I-hope-senpai-notices-me' blushed?

…was Kyle nervous about Stan talking to him?

Was Kyle nervous… around Stan?

"Hi," Kyle said back to Stan. It was then that Stan realized how close their faces were to each other, their noses almost touching. However, Kyle made no effort to move away, so neither did Stan.

"You slept all through the night," Stan remarked.

"I did," Kyle affirmed. "Because you were there." Now it was Stan's turn to blush. After a moment Kyle mumbled something about being cold, even though his face was bright red.

As if by instinct, Stan took him into his arms and Kyle curled up close to him, their whole bodies touching. Kyle's hands wrapped around his back, along with his legs, which were still entwined around Stan's middle, and Stan could feel his and Kyle's bodies getting warmer.

Not knowing why, Stan kissed the top of Kyle's head, his curly red hair tickling his nose.

"Sorry," he instantly apologized, stuttering, then stopped abruptly as Kyle looked up and placed a single finger on Stan's lips.

Kyle let go of Stan and drew himself up so they were at the same level. Stan realized that their faces were getting closer and closer- was it Stan leaning in or was it Kyle, he didn't know- and his lips collided with Kyle's and all he could think about was _Kyle's lips! On his!_ and then he felt Kyle, kissing him back- they were kissing, this was kissing wasn't it, no wonder girls were crazy about it-and Kyle parted his lips, ever so slightly, and Stan took the opportunity and slipped his tongue in, _my tongue in Kyle's mouth_, he thought, hoping that this wasn't a dream, and _was that Kyle's tongue, _yes, it was, he realized, as he felt Kyle's hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in closer…

They rolled over without realizing it, Stan now on top of Kyle, who's legs were no longer wrapped around him, but instead lying flat on the bed beneath Stan, who had his arms tightly around Kyle, bringing him closer to himself as Kyle arched up to meet Stan's lips. Stan moved down, licking and kissing along Kyle's neck, enjoying the gasp that escaped from Kyle as he latched onto his collarbone and sucked, leaving a purple bruise.

However, as his hands traveled further south, Kyle shook his head and pushed Stan away. Stan protested, but Kyle was adamant.

"I just… don't feel comfortable going any farther," he said, looking away.

"I understand." Stan reached over and turned Kyle's head to face him. "It's okay. Don't worry about it,"

"It's just.. well… I've never actually touched someone and been touched by someone who I really care about. I mean, I've had sex before, but I was never consenting. I don't want to have sex with you, or even go further than kissing, at least for the time being. I want my first.. _real _time, to be both people fully sure and ready and willing, and not some spur of the moment thing because we were both in bed together, and I just don't think I'm ready. At least not yet." Kyle winced. "Sorry. That sounds really mean, but I just-"

"It's fine," Stan cut him off, getting off of Kyle, who was now sitting up, and his bed and standing up. "It's really fine. I think it's great that you were able to actually say that, and voice your opinion, and stand up for yourself. I'm really proud of you, Kyle."

He cupped Kyle's face in his hand and leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. He opened his eyes to see Kyle smiling up at him. Stan grinned back at him.

Their eyes connected, and just for a moment, Stan felt something invisible pass between them, some little spark of electricity that brought them, in just one second, that much closer, like a silent declaration of love that was not spoken and yet heard by both of them, and speaking just with their eyes, they affirmed and accepted and murmured, "_I know, and I love you too," _without a sound.

Then Stan turned away, and it was gone.

* * *

_Author's note: Sorry this took so long, had some stuff to deal with. Anyway, I hope you like it!_


	13. Chapter 13

Kyle turned on the nozzle, feeling the hot water blast at him from the shower spout. Feeling the warmth that poured on his head and down his back in rivulets, the hot liquid cascading down his shoulders, he recalled the warmth he felt when he was with Stan.

He was just beginning to feel again, to feel happy, content, secure. He wasn't sure if he could begin to feel the way people do in love songs, or ever be able to experience intense emotions and not just numbness. Would he be able to return Stan's feelings? Could he really be the one who could make Stan happy when it was so hard for himself to be happy?

Was he good enough for Stan?

* * *

Kyle got dressed and went downstairs, seeing Stan sitting at the kitchen table stuffing his face with Lucky Charms. He knew what he had to do.

"Stan, I-"

"Good thing it's Saturday!" Stan interrupted, smiling boisterously. A milk mustache hovered above his upper lip. Kyle gestured to his upper lip and Stan wiped his mouth with his hand.

"So," Stan continued, "Cartman and Kenny are going to SuperExtraFunland, and they invited us, and I said yes! It's not too far from here. You'll love it!"

Stan's enthusiasm was contagious. Kyle found himself smiling too, despite the thought of what he would have to do.

* * *

The bus ride to SuperExtraFunland was crowded and smelly, but in all fairness, Kyle was having a pretty good time.

Although that was probably mainly due to the fact that Stan had put his arm around Kyle surreptitiously, and Kyle ever so slightly leaned in, and there _may _have been some cuddling which _may _have led to kissing, but….

You get the idea.

Kyle could still taste Stan as he stepped off the bus, feeling the wind blow his hair and jacket back. He was soon followed by Stan, who grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the entrance. After purchasing their tickets, they spotted Cartman raiding a popcorn stand and Kenny stuffing Cartman's popcorn into his pockets for later. Stan and Kyle joined them, Kyle painfully aware that Stan was still holding his hand and desperately hoping that Cartman and Kenny would not notice and yet hoping even more that Stan didn't let go. After all, even though Kyle was going to end things with Stan, he may as well live in the moment and enjoy being… whatever they were.

"Okay, let's go on the Splash of Doom first, and then the Terrific Terrifying Tunnel… oh, we _have _to go on the Soopa Doopa Death Plunge- it's 85 feet-" Cartman ordered excitedly, thumbing through the SuperExtraFunland Funguy'd™. Stan groaned.

"Not the Death Plunge, I puked last time," he complained.

"That's because Wendy was there," Kenny pointed out. "Speaking of which, are you still dating her?" Kyle stiffened noticeably and Kenny glanced at him. "..If not, I call dibs on that hot piece of ass," he continued.

"Goddamn," Cartman muttered under his breath.

"I'm not dating her anymore," Stan said. "Remember a month ago? She dumped me for my lab partner, Derrick. I'm dating someone else now," he declared proudly.

"Oh?" Cartman looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm dating Ky-"

"I have to pee!" Kyle burst out loudly, stopping Stan from finishing his sentence. "Stan, will you take me to the bathroom?"

He tugged on Stan's hand, feeling like a toddler but that sort of embarrassment wasn't as bad as the humiliation he would feel if Cartman or someone made fun of him… suddenly memories of middle school flooded him… his head being shoved into the toilets, getting beaten up, trash poured on his head, he could remember feeling like he just wanted to cease to exist, like he wanted to just melt into the linoleum tiles, how he had gone running to Stan for help and how Stan had turned him away…

He remembered.

Of course, he had remembered some details, but not all of them, he had blocked them from his memory or just chosen to forget; only remembering Stan's anger and then the alleyway…

And now he knew.

Stan had turned him away. That's what he had meant when they reunited, saying it was his fault Kyle was kidnapped but Kyle just thought he was placing unnecessary blame on himself- he wouldn't have gotten kidnapped, wouldn't have been raped, abused, starved and neglected…

Waves of nausea overcame Kyle and he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying not to puke.

"Sorry," Stan apologized and he was off with Kyle. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice dripping with concern.

"Just- where's the bathroom?" Kyle interjected weakly. Stan had barely pointed when he dashed off into a stall in the mens. He heaved as tears came out of his eyes and dripped down his cheeks.

It was Stan- all his fault- Kyle would be a normal, happy teen if it wasn't for him- all his fault/Stan/fault/Stan/fault/fault/fault/fault/faul t-

"Kyle?" Stan knocked on the door of the stall. "You all right in there?"

"Go away," Kyle said, his voice thick with tears.

"What? I'm not-"

"_Go away!"_ Kyle spat, spittle mixed with vomit spewing out of his mouth. He could barely hear the words he was saying over the colliding thoughts in his head- this wasn't happening- this couldn't be happening- it was a lie- it couldn't be true- Stan wouldn't do that to him- but he did, it's true- it's all true-

"Kyle-" Just hearing Stan's voice made it worse.

"Just _go!" "Leave me alone!"_

"Kyle." Stan's voice was frustratingly calm and yet soothing-why did his voice soothe him- Stan did this to him- it was all Stan's fault- so why did he still listen to him? "I'm not going to leave. I'm going to wait here until you either come out or I'll kick the door in." Stan continued.

"It's-it's your fault! All your fault!"

"What is?"

"You turned me out! That night, that rainy night when I was in middle school and there were rumors and you were angry with me! _You _were the reason all that fucked up shit happened! It was you! All you!"

A sigh.

"Kyle," Stan started, "you had forgotten?"

"Yes!"

"And now you remembered?"

No response.

Another sigh.

"We've all done things we're not proud of, Kyle. We all have baggage. I admit, it was my fault, my bad judgment and stupid decisions that resulted in you getting kidnapped. I didn't plan on that occurring and I definitely did not intend for that to happen to you. When it _did _happen, well…" he drew a shaky breath. Kyle heard with surprise that Stan was crying too.

"I- I had always been kinda depressed. You were my best friend, the only one that could make me feel really, truly, happy. I treasured that. And when you supposedly "died" my depression hit an all-time low. I started cutting. Then I attempted suicide.

"My mother found me collapsed in my room next to an empty bottle of pills. I was thirteen. She took me to the emergency room and had my stomach pumped. That very same night, I was admitted to Green Fields, the closest mental hospital, or, 'behavioral facility' as they called it. After around two weeks, I was let out with a prescription for forty milligrams of Prozac and a doctor's note to lock up all the medication and sharp objects in the household.

"On the Prozac, I started feeling better. Feeling more like myself when I was with you. Around that time I started thinking you were alive. Started insisting that you weren't dead, that you were right next to me, that the officials were wrong and all this stuff. I guess it was the closest I could get to you, to try to convince myself and others that you were still with me."

Kyle noticed that he was crying, but not for the same reason as he was earlier. No, not out of anger but out of… guilt? Sympathy? Regret? Despite his extensive vocabulary, he could not place a word with this feeling. It was something completely new, something that welled up in his chest, something that made him just want to reach out to Stan and take him into his arms, comfort him and tell him that everything was all right, that he wasn't angry anymore.

"I drew more and more into myself. I stopped talking to anyone and everyone. I didn't need other people, because in my head, I had you. It got to the point where I would get so lost inside my alternate reality that I couldn't return. I would sit staring into space for days on end, not eating or sleeping. My parents took me to Green Fields a second time and I barely noticed. It was almost three weeks before I woke up.

"It took a while to get used to reality. I had to accept that you were gone. I had to accept that you were dead. Eventually I believed. I was getting better, but I was still very depressed, more so than the first time. They put me on sixty milligrams. Things went okay for a while until eventually life was normal again, or at least as normal as it could be. I went back to school and finished that grade, and I started feeling better and safer and happier.

"Then, when my mom told me that you were found, that you were alive, all I could feel was pure bliss, the happiest I had been in a long time. And ever since you came back, I've been doing better and better."

"Stan, I-"

"I understand if you are mad at me. I understand if you never want to see me again. If that is really what you want, I won't stop you. But don't think, for one second, that I did what I did to you on purpose. Don't think that I was glad that you were gone. Don't be so selfish as to assume that I am better off without you, because without you, I am not me. So please, Kyle, _please _don't leave me again."

Kyle could hear Stan crying from the other side of the metal stall door. Tears dripping down his cheeks, he said,

"It's not your fault. It's not my fault. It's no one's fault that I got kidnapped. If anything, it's because of ignorance and spite and anger, but the blame does not rest on any one person. It's just easier, I guess, to blame someone else than to admit that we made stupid mistakes.

"I don't really blame you. I just was angry that that happened to me, angry at the world that would let this happen, and pinned that anger on you. I'm sorry, Stan, I really am."

Kyle unlocked the door and swung it open, seeing Stan's tear-streaked face. He wiped the tears off of Stan's cheeks, and then his own.

"I'm so sorry. I won't ever leave you. Not now, not ever. I promise, okay?" Stan rushed into Kyle's arms, sobbing. Kyle was slightly taken aback; he had never seen this side of Stan before. To him, Stan was always the strong, happy and secure one that kept Kyle safe. But now, apparently… who was helping who?

Kyle patted Stan's back as he cried into Kyle's shoulder, feeling Stan's chest tremble. After what seemed like a long time, Stan had stopped crying. He splashed water on his face and Kyle rinsed out his mouth, trying to get the taste of pennies that was permeating on his tongue out.

"You ready?" Kyle asked Stan, who was leaning over the sink breathing heavily. Stan gulped, and nodded. Kyle took his hand into his own, intertwining their fingers as they headed out of the dimly lit bathroom and into the bright sunlight.


	14. Chapter 14

_~Previously~_

_"You ready?" Kyle asked Stan, who was leaning over the sink breathing heavily. Stan gulped, and nodded. Kyle took his hand into his own, intertwining their fingers as they headed out of the dimly lit bathroom and into the bright sunlight._

* * *

"What took you guys so long?" Cartman complained. "Kenny and I already went on a ride while we were waiting."

Kenny nodded in agreement.

"Sorry," Kyle apologized. They got into line and chatted idly until it was time to go on the Terrific Terrifying Tunnel. Stan and Kyle shared a car and Cartman and Kenny took the one in front.

"This one's really fun," Stan said, grinning at Kyle. "You'll like iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-" his words were cut off as the ride started with a jerk and threw the huge machine forward, causing a scream. Kyle started to laugh but began to scream as well as the coaster lunged down at a seemingly vertical angle. No sooner had it reached the bottom of the track that it hurtled upwards at incredible speed, then jerked suddenly left, causing Stan to fall on top of Kyle, who was too enthralled to even notice the fact that there was another human on top of him.

Suddenly, painted figures in grotesque masks jumped out at them from either side of the tunnel walls. Kyle screeched and held onto Stan for dear life, his arms wrapped around him. With a jolt the ride stopped, and they fell onto the floor, Stan still collapsed on Kyle, who was still grasping Stan like a monkey on a tree.

"…what."

Stan looked up and saw Cartman and Kenny looking down at them from outside. Kenny was laughing and Cartman's eyes were wider than plates, disbelief staining his face.

"I knew you two were fags, but…" Cartman trailed off.

"You owe me five bucks!" Kenny doubled over laughing. "I was right! Ha!" He could barely speak, gasps intersecting each word, he was laughing so hard. Kyle untangled himself from Stan and pushed Stan off of him. Both of their faces were bright red. Stan got up and so did Kyle, brushing their clothes off. They stepped out of the car. Kyle laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. At last Stan spoke.

"Wanna.. do another ride?" Kenny burst into laughter.

"You just want to go on another so you two can make out some more!" He cried. He exchanged a meaningful glance with Cartman and the two of them simultaneously steered Stan and Kyle towards a pink bedazzled entrance to another ride- The Tunnel of Love.

"Have fun, you two!" Cartman cackled gleefully. Him and Kenny left, but then Kenny ran back and dug something out of his pocket. He pressed it into Stan's hand.

"You'll need this," he said, still laughing. Stan looked down at the thing in his hand.

It was a condom, still in the wrapper.

"I don't need-" he said, looking up, but Kenny and Cartman had already disappeared.

* * *

"Do you.." Stan nodded towards the Tunnel of Love.

"I'm game for whatever you want," Kyle said, shrugging.

"It's up to you," Stan offered.

"No, really- whatever you want," Kyle proffered.

"Really, I don't care,"

"Whatever is cool with me,"

.

.

Eventually, without knowing exactly how they got there, they ended up on a red cushioned seat in a pink enameled car shaped like a carriage.

"This was a bad idea." Kyle stated.

"Yeah," Stan agreed. "Let's get off." They unbuckled their seatbelts just as the ride started up with a jolt, causing both of them to crash into each other.

"Not again," Kyle moaned. He rebuckled his seatbelt and crossed his arms, a little pout playing on his lips.

With a jolt, Stan realized Kyle looked almost like the old Kyle, with his curly red hair sticking out from under his dislocated hat and crossed arms and adorable expression, a frown but with the corners of his lips sticking up into a sort of smile.

He looked like the Kyle who got angry at Cartman and played football, the Kyle that helped Stan with long division and climbed through Stan's window in car pajamas at midnight for late night games of Dungeons and Dragons, the Kyle who's childhood wasn't marred with rape, abuse, forced prostitution and starvation.

"Stan? Earth to Stan? You hear me?" Stan blinked. A corner of his mouth slid upwards.

"Yeah," he said, "I hear you."

"Wha-mmpf-" Stan cut off Kyle's queries, pressing his lips to Kyle's.

Kyle pulled away. "Stan, we're on a roller coaster. This probably isn't the best time to be doing this," he interjected.

"We're in the Tunnel of Love. Of course this is the best time to be doing this,"

Stan felt one of Kyle's hands reach around and unbuckle his seatbelt once again and was surprised when Kyle adjusted himself so he was sitting on Stan's lap, facing him, his legs bent on either side of Stan's. Stan placed a hand on the back of Kyle's head, enjoying the feel of Kyle's soft hair running through his fingers, and especially enjoying the feel of Kyle resting on him.

They continued their sloppy kissing, pausing only to break for air. They were so engrossed in each other that they didn't even notice that the ride had stopped, nor that a crowd of people were staring at them, or the fact that at the front of the crowd was Cartman and Kenny.

In fact, they didn't even realize until there was a flash of light and both of them looked up to see Kenny taking a picture and Cartman organizing a queue and making people pay a dollar to come see the 'Tunnel of Love in action'.

Kyle wiped his mouth sheepishly and got off of Stan, who stood up and together they stepped out of the car.

"I bet the new chick you're dating's pretty jealous," Kenny laughed.

"Actually, the person I'm dating… _is _Kyle." Stan said awkwardly, his hands in his pockets.

Kenny laughed nervously. "Damn…" he whistled. "I did not see that one coming, I have to admit."

Kyle stood there, staring at his feet, waiting for the whole ordeal to be over. He didn't want to ever show his face outside ever again… how had he not noticed that the ride had stopped?! He was so frustrated with himself and so embarrassed that when Stan lightly tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped.

"I'm going to go get us some lunch. You want anything?" he asked.

"N-no," Kyle mumbled, his cheeks flaming. "I'm not that hungry." He wrapped his fingers around his forearms, still looking at his scuffed shoes.

"You sure?" Kyle nodded. "Alright then, see you in ten minutes, 'kay?" Stan ran off. Kyle felt awkward just standing there, so he found a bench nearby and sat down, his fingers gripping the edge of the splintered wood. He lifted his head and looked around.

* * *

Happy couples milled about in the sun and small children with cotton candy staining their skin, sticky smiles engraved in their faces. This was the childhood he had once had and then lost. This was what he had missed out on. But one of the things that made him feel better, when _He _had been hurting him, was that at least it was him who was hurting, him who was inwardly screaming, grasping, searching for life and somehow staying on, and not someone else. At least it was just him who endured that, and not anyone he cared about.

And yet, he had hurt Stan too, and that was his fault. He was hurting, and Stan got caught in the crossfire too.

Kyle could never forgive himself.

Tears began to cloud his vision. _Not now_, he thought. Dammit, he _wasn't _going to cry in public- but it was too late, tears had begun to fall, splashing on his hand and onto the wood beneath it, soaking into the coarse material. His shoulders trembled, and he bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out. Silent tears jumped from his quivering eyelashes, faster and faster and gaining momentum.

Suddenly a hand reached around his shoulder and pulled him in close. Kyle's first thought was Stan, but he realized that this was not Stan, this was someone else, someone else with rough hands, someone else who smelt of something terribly familiar but something Kyle couldn't place his finger on, something that reminded him of the bad days, of _His _dealer…

Oh no.

Kyle tried to pull away, tried to free himself from the man's grip, but the hand closed upon him like an iron vice, fingernails digging into his skin like talons, and he couldn't get away, he couldn't escape…

The man stood up and pulled Kyle up with him and started to move forward, dragging Kyle behind him. Kyle stumbled and the man's grip ceased but for a moment and Kyle attempted kicking him, biting, punching, anything, tried screaming but he made no noise, and then the man's hands were around him again, pushing him forward, and Kyle realized in that moment that it was futile.

He was hopeless.

* * *

They trudged on until they got to a dingy van, where the man opened up the trunk and shoved Kyle in, but not before roughly duct taping his hands together behind his back and a piece over his mouth. As the trunk slammed shut, Kyle saw one last image of Stan, running, his hand outstretched, yelling something, but then it closed and everything bloomed into darkness.

The engine started and the van began to move. Kyle knew what awaited him, what his fate and inevitable end would be, but he didn't mind.

He wasn't going to hurt Stan anymore. That's right, he had been hurting Stan by being with him, he was the reason Stan was put in a hospital, he was the one who drove Stan to try to kill himself..

This is what he deserved.


	15. Chapter 15

_~Previously~_

_He wasn't going to hurt Stan anymore. That's right, he had been hurting Stan by being with him, he was the reason Stan was put in a hospital, he was the one who drove Stan to try to kill himself…_

_This was what he deserved._

* * *

"Thanks," Stan said, as he received the steaming hot dog from the vendor. He turned around and started to walk back, munching on his hot dog as he lightly stepped over the cracks in the pavement. He reached the spot where Kyle had been and looked around. He was gone. Stan shrugged, figuring Kyle was in the bathroom or somewhere like that. He went and sat down on a bench and stretched out, waiting. He frowned. There was something underneath him that was uncomfortable. It felt cloth-like; had someone left their sweatshirt on the bench?

He stood up and turned around. His eyes widened and he dropped the half-eaten hot dog.

Kyle's hat sat alone, squashed on the bench.

Stan looked up, desperately trying to locate Kyle. Not there.. nor there… not there either.

Kyle always wore that hat, since Stan had given it to him. He wouldn't take it off for anything except showering and sleep.

"Shit," he cursed and grabbed the hat. He ran off, searching in the crowd of people for a sign, for anything, for that curly mane of red hair, but Kyle was nowhere to be found. He pushed past a queue for a ride, muttering apologies until he was not lost in a huge multitude of bodies.

"Kyle!" he yelled. A couple people looked at him strangely, but he didn't notice. "_Kyle!" _

Then he saw him. There was a huge man with a tattoo on his right shoulder and a shaved head, one muscular arm securely around Kyle's skinny frame, his head bent as he walked slowly towards a beat up, dusty red van. Why wasn't he struggling, why wasn't he trying something, was he hurt, was he threatened, what had happened in the ten minutes he had been gone…

Struggling was useless, Stan realized, as he noticed how the huge arm completely dwarfed Kyle and held him in so close that he could barely move. Stan tried to run, tried to move, but he was frozen.

_Move, _he commanded his limbs, and yet they seemed fused to the spot, fear gluing them down.

The trunk of the car opened and Kyle was shoved in. The man bent over him, obscuring Stan's view of Kyle, doing something with his arms and then leaned back, satisfied. Stan saw with horror that Kyle's mouth was duct taped shut, his hands behind his back, also obviously tied.

"Kyle!" a scream erupted from his mouth and suddenly his invisible bonds were not restraining him anymore, Stan ran towards the van even though he knew it was useless, as the trunk slammed shut and the van began moving, Stan kept running, running after it until it had vanished and he couldn't run any more.

* * *

"Can you please try to describe what the man looked like?"

Stan swallowed. "He was.. big. Not fat big, but just… enormous. He had a tattoo on his- his right shoulder, and his head was shaved."

"What was the tattoo of?"

"I don't know. I didn't see."

"What about his face?"

"I didn't see his face," Stan admitted.

The interrogator studied him. "Are you sure?"

Stan nodded.

"What was he wearing?"

"I think it was a black tshirt. And jeans. Yeah, jeans. Blue jeans," Stan said, remembering. The interrogator scribbled something on her clipboard then stood up.

"You may leave," she said, and opened the door for Stan. He stepped out of the bare gray room and was almost instantly barraged by his mother, wrapping her arms around Stan tightly, so tight he could barely breathe.

"Oh Stanley," she said, "my poor baby," Stan realized she was crying as the back of his shirt grew wet and hugged her back tightly. Suddenly he was crying too, crying like the little boy he had once been into his mother's bosom.

* * *

Dinner that night was quiet, only the sounds of knives and forks scraping the plates could be heard. Even Shelley was silent, something Stan normally would have savored, but he couldn't enjoy anything right now. He ate half of his dinner, then got up, saying he wasn't hungry. His parents exchanged meaningful glances, but he ignored them and headed upstairs and fell into his bed, pulling the covers over him. He huddled down, a making himself into a tiny ball, as small as he could get, pulling his knees to his chest.

He just wanted to go back, go back to before the summer ended and school began, go back before Kyle left for middle school and then left him completely. Wanted to go back to when they were 8, playing in Stark's pond and burning Jennifer Lopez dolls, go back to crayons and gold stickers and sticky candy.

He grasped his head in hands, his fingers parting through his hair. His forehead creased as he longed for some solace, for some relief.

* * *

A million miles away, as _He _(as Kyle had begun to call him now, for they were all the same, all clones of the same man it seemed) climbed on top of Kyle and ripped his clothes off, as _He _inserted, as the pain started again, as Kyle was crushed by the huge man on him, as he closed his mind and pretended he was elsewhere, anywhere but here, as the world faded away, he accepted his fate.

* * *

_3 days after_

"I'm going out," Stan announced, pulling on his coat.

"Are you sure, I mean-" his mother protested.

"I'm fine, Mom." Stan said, trying to smile reassuringly, but his teeth were clenched and his lips were forced upwards.

"I don't think-" she started, but he was already out the door. She sat down heavily, resting her head in her palms. After a minute she lifted her head and dialed a number.

"Is this Wang Therapy? Yes, this is Sharon Marsh." She tilted her head. "I don't know what to do. He hasn't slept, hasn't eaten, he won't leave his room, except to 'go out' and I don't know where he's going, and I just…" she trailed off. A voice drifted out of the receiver. "Yes," Sharon Marsh said. "I think you're right.

"It's happening again."

* * *

The cold wind bit at Stan and he pulled his hood up over his hat, then placed his hands back in his pockets. This was his second day of searching and he was getting nowhere.

He knew it was impossible, he knew it was a waste of time and yet he still trudged on, determined.

He was going to find Kyle even if it killed him.


	16. Chapter 16

_~ Previously ~_

_The cold wind bit at Stan and he pulled his hood up over his hat, then placed his hands back in his pockets. This was his second day of searching and he was getting nowhere._

_He knew it was impossible, he knew it was a waste of time and yet he still trudged on, determined._

_He was going to find Kyle even if it killed him._

* * *

_A month after_

Mrs. Marsh had given up on trying to stop Stan from going out. She had given up, really, in general.

But Stan wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop searching for Kyle, even though they both knew it was hopeless. He wouldn't stop going through old alleyways, abandoned houses, nailing "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY" posters to trees and lampposts, and knocking on doors, asking around.

His health was deteriorating- he wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, wouldn't even go to school. He walked around, pale as bone, bags under his eyes from no sleep. He was a walking skeleton. He was death.

And yet, in his eyes, there was life. In his eyes, a fire burned, in his eyes, determination pooled and seeped forth.

He didn't cry. He barely even blinked. He just stared, endlessly, eyes reflecting like mirrors.

* * *

_Three months after_

He had given up. He stopped searching, threw away his maps and his posters. He started eating again, started sleeping, gained some weight back and started exercising again. He returned to school and did his homework every night like a good little boy.

But his eyes were empty.

He was hollow, a shell. There was no Stan anymore.

Stan Marsh had died.

* * *

_Six months after_

He hurt. And he couldn't stand it. His therapist said that you find the source of the pain, and remove it from your mind. He was hurting because of Kyle Broflovski. He could be fixed, could be healed only one way.

He had to forget Kyle.

* * *

_One year after_

Stan was back. Stan was happy, ordinary, took his pills every day and went to school, all A's and one B, on the soccer team with a cute girlfriend and lots of friends.

His parents were happy and his coach was happy and his girlfriend was happy and his psychiatrist was happy and his therapist was happy and so he was happy.

Sometimes he felt something nagging at the back of his brain, a feeling that he had forgotten something or someone, but Stan couldn't remember what and eventually, that too disappeared.

* * *

It's funny how easily we forget. How we pluck the memories straight out of our heads and into the trash, dispose of them forever. How very convenient it is, how we never notice that memory is gone.

People stumble from one life to the next, never knowing the who/what/where/when/why. We don't mind that we don't mind. We don't even think about it.

We don't even think about the one lying on a dirty floor, eyes glassed over, empty hand outstretched, mouth slightly open, staring up at the moonless night as they cling for dear life on a fraying rope that is almost broken, living only for that one memory of the person who forgot them, because that's the only thing worth living for.

It's funny how we go about our day to day lives, without even knowing the other part of us exists.

* * *

_don't forget_


	17. Chapter 17

_Authors Note: Hey, I was originally going to end it at that last chapter, but I decided to keep going! Sorry this chapter is so short; there will be more coming soon, I promise! Thank you all for reading and reviewing, it really means a lot to me._

* * *

It was all Derrick's fault.

After Sharon Marsh found Stan's friend's stash in his sock drawer, and even though Stan had _told _her that they were Derrick's and not his, she was still going to clean out his room tomorrow and Stan had just one day to get rid of anything and everything that might be in the slightest offensive.

Groaning, he reached under his bed, feeling around for the little packet of condoms he had bought a while ago for later use with Wendy. Instead, his hand felt something, soft, like cloth, but small. He grabbed the article and pulled it out from under the bed.

It was a faded, beat-up old green hat, that weird kind with ear flaps that Russian soldiers used to wear or something. He frowned. It looked strangely familiar, although he had no idea why it was under his bed, or even in his room at all.

"Mom!" he called. After a moment his mother walked in, balancing a laundry basket on her hip.

"What," she asked, clearly still angry with Stan. He held up the hat.

"What's this?"

Her eyes widened. She placed the laundry basket on the ground and rushed over to where Stan was kneeling.

"Where did you find that?"

"It was under my bed," Stan stated, examining the faded fabric.

His mother's lips tightened. She didn't want to tell Stan, because he had done so well, and was getting better and better without Kyle. She didn't want him to remember, didn't want him to realize that everything was hopeless for Kyle. Not after it had taken so long for him to forget, not after he had been so depressed, he couldn't fall back now.

"Mom?" she looked up. "What is it?" he asked again.

She looked away. "I don't know." She got up and left the room, stopping only to grab the laundry basket on her way out.

Stan looked back down at the hat and frowned. He was sure he had seen it before, and he was certain that his mother had too.

* * *

The next morning, as Stan poured his cereal, he decided to try again. "Mom? Are you sure you haven't seen that hat before?"

Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something, but then she closed it tightly and simply nodded. Stan decided not to push the matter, as his mother was obviously not going to relent. Instead, he got up and opened the fridge, grabbing the new milk carton and pouring it into his bowl of cereal.

Suddenly he stopped and held the carton up closer to where he could see it.

On the back of the carton, under the caption "MISSING- KYLE BROFLOVSKI. LAST SEEN AT SUPEREXTRAFUNLAND THEME PARK. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFO, PLEASE CALL 1-800-645-3827.", was a photo of a skinny, redheaded teenage boy wearing the exact same green hat as he had found under his bed.

* * *

Stan nearly dropped the milk carton, his hands were shaking so bad.

"Who- who's Kyle Broflovski..?" he asked, although he felt something awakening, something that had been pushed down for so long, now starting to stir again. The name sounded so familiar, and the way the words tripped off his tongue made him sure he had once said these words, many, many times…

His mother didn't answer, only stared in horror as the eighteen-year old began to unravel in front of her.

Stan fell to his knees, dropping the milk carton, but he barely noticed as milk spilled onto the floor and began to soak into his jeans. He was too preoccupied with the images now flashing before his eyes, like some sort of sick movie of his life being sped up. Pictures of Kyle spun through his head- Kyle in the hospital, covered in bandages, the first time he had seen him in years-Kyle staring into the mirror, seeing himself for the first time and Stan behind him- Kyle wearing his old hat- at the park, staring at the sky- with Stan, at the mall, holding hands- shirtless, his scars showing- laughing- Kyle's lips on his- embracing at the amusement park- _in the trunk of a van, hands tied behind his back and duct tape over his mouth…_

For the first time in a very long while, Stan felt tears begin to fall, dripping slowly down his cheeks and off his chin. He looked up, his face marred with sadness.

"How could you not tell me?"

In that moment, he sounded so small, so afraid, so hurt- he sounded like the happy little boy he had once been, a small child who was so very, very lost and couldn't find his way back.

"I was afraid," Sharon Marsh said hesitantly.

"Of what?"

A pause.

"Of hurting you."


	18. Chapter 18

**_Authors note: This chapter contains sexual violence and rape. If you are a survivor of sexual violence in any form, and if you could be triggered, please do not read this chapter. I do not want to cause any grief or anything because of this. I also want to make it clear that I do not condone rape or ANY sexual violence in any way. _**

**_Rape is not sexy, or fun, or sexually satisfying. It is a terrible crime that should not happen to anybody and I don't want anyone to ever have to suffer like Kyle has. If this chapter triggers you in anyway, I am terribly sorry. _**

**_This month is, coincidentally, Sexual Violence Awareness Month, and I hope you all show your support for survivors. Thank you!_**

**_If you do not want to read this chapter, I am fine with that. However, if you still want to know what happens, you can leave a review asking and I can PM you the chapter summary. :)_**

_~Previously~_

_"How could you not tell me?"_

_In that moment, he sounded so small, so afraid, so hurt- he sounded like the happy little boy he had once been, a small child who was so very, very lost and couldn't find his way back._

_"I was afraid," Sharon Marsh said hesitantly._

_"Of what?"_

_A pause._

_"Of hurting you."_

* * *

Stan headed out the door after changing into a dry pair of jeans, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

"You're going to school?" his mother asked. Stan nodded. "I was hoping you could stay home and we could talk." she said.

"No, I had better go to school." Stan said.

"You sure?" she asked, but he was already out the door.

* * *

Stan paused at the end of the block, making sure no one was there, and then turned the opposite direction of his school and started walking.

His backpack was not full of textbooks, nor paper, not even pencils.

It was jammed with clothes, a compass, a penknife, his phone, a laptop and a charger, a map, all of his savings, a rope, and Kyle's hat.

He wasn't going to forget.

Not now, not ever.

He was going to find Kyle.

* * *

Stan got off the train as a woman's voice chided over the intercom: "Welcome to Denver." This was the city where Kyle had been last time, right? Shouldn't be too hard…

Stan realized he was mistaken as he got lost, for the fourth time in the giant maze they called a city. He figured Kyle would be in the poorer, less fancy section of the city, and that of course wasn't too hard to find. What was hard to find, however, was a skinny redhead who had been missing for the past year, among all these old apartments and falling-apart houses. He turned a street corner and ran into a very large, very angry looking man.

"Where you think you're goin'?" he demanded, towering over Stan.

"Sorry, I'm kinda in a hurry, so.." he trailed off, turning to leave. A hand grabbed the back of his shirt.

"You ain't goin' nowhere, son," the voice boomed. Stan turned around and apologized yet again, receiving only a punch in the gut. He doubled over, as the air was knocked out of him. "Let that be a lesson to you." Stan stared up at the man. "Didn't you say you had somewhere ta go?"

Stan nodded and picked himself off the ground and ran through the cracked roads and alleys of Denver, feet splashing in puddles, pausing occasionally for air and then picking up the pace again. Occasionally he would yell out "Kyle!" but wouldn't get any response.

Almost a full day passed, and no matter how many people Stan showed Kyle's picture to or tried to describe him, begging them for some information, nobody had any idea who he was.

Eventually, wet, cold, and dead tired, Stan curled up under a bench in a bus shelter, using his backpack as a pillow. Almost instantly he was asleep.

* * *

After around a week, Stan couldn't take it anymore. He was sick and tired and fed up of sleeping on concrete and waking up with some bum's hand down his pants, being hungry, and wandering around unknown areas looking for someone who was probably dead or beyond saving.

He hated to think that way, but he knew he had to be rational. He had heard the stories in the newspaper, of kids disappearing and then two years later, their bodies being found in dumpsters or alleyways or sewers. Kyle had escaped the probability once already. It was nearly impossible to do it once, let alone twice.

And yet, he couldn't help feeling guilty, as he bought the ticket and accepted the little slip of paper that guaranteed his return to South Park. He boarded the train and sat down heavily, sighing. He tilted his head back and stared through his black hair at the handles that dangled above him, looking like jewelry. He brought it forward and then his eye caught on something.

There was a large man sitting directly across from him, head shaven and wearing a dirty white wife-beater and red jacket. Yawning, the man pulled off his sweater and Stan noticed he had a tattoo on his right shoulder, a black Celtic cross with vines intertwining it. He had a strange smell to him, a strange musky-ness, almost herbal, and sweet. It smelt like the place at the back of his high school where everyone went to smoke pot.

_"Once he 'lent' me to his dealer in return for some crank. High off his own drugs, he did… terrible things to me. Things no sane person would do. Although, to tell the truth, neither of us were quite sane at that time."_

Isn't that what Kyle had said, so long ago? And the man that took him away had a tattoo on his right shoulder…

The bus stopped and the man across from him stood up and got off. Even though it wasn't Stan's stop, he looked around furtively and then followed the man, making sure he wasn't seen, always staying at least twenty feet behind.

The tattooed man led him through a winding maze of buildings, getting shabbier and older and more derelict, until he finally stopped at a tiny, one floor house surrounded by chain-link fence. In the backyard, behind the house, buried in the corner, was an old shed. The windows had newspaper covering them so that nobody could see out, or, Stan realized, see in. The door was barred shut, so whatever was inside wouldn't be able to get out.

The man went inside the house, slamming the door. Stan hid outside the fence by some weeds large enough to be a bush, or to at least obstruct himself from view and waited. He checked his watch. It was almost exactly six pm.

Stan hadn't even realized he had fallen asleep until the back door of the house slammed shut, awakening him with a jolt. He checked his watch; it was around 10:30 pm. Stan sat up and peered through the weeds, seeing the man go to the small shed in the back. As he passed under the moonlight, Stan saw that he was high- the whites of his eyes were reddened. He could smell alcohol, even from his distance away.

The tattooed man unbarred the door and it slowly swung open. He headed inside, closing the door securely behind him. Stan could hear a rustling of movement in the shed, and a dim light switched on inside the shed, so that Stan could see the silhouettes of two people- the tattooed man and someone else, through the newspapered windows.

There was a thud, and the smaller person backed into the wall as the larger man approached. As the larger man got closer, Stan heard a faint

"Please," a voice that sounded like dust and lost years, "please, no." the voice pleaded. The larger man hit the smaller one and the voice cried out as he slid to the ground. The larger man followed. More blows were given to the smaller man, Stan could hear, even though the silhouettes had moved and were not there anymore. After a while the smaller man stopped crying out so much and the blows ceased. Stan heard a zipper being pulled down, like the zipper on the pants of jeans and a rustling of fabric.

"Don't, please, no" the voice continued until a particularly strong strike was heard, and the voice stopped pleading. Stan could hear commotion, like someone was struggling and being held down, but then the sound of glass breaking, like someone was breaking a bottle over someone else's head. The commotion stopped, and all Stan could hear was some shifting of movement and eventually, that too, ceased, as he heard the zipper again and the tattooed man exited the shed, closing and barring the door behind him.

Stan, trembling from shock, horror, and disgust, shrank down, holding his head in his hands, his knees to his chest.

Had he just heard somebody get _raped?_

Sweat trickled down the side of his head, and he vomited violently, wishing he could expel the sounds that he had just heard from him mind and body as well. There was no noise from inside the shed, and after a while, the house, as the lights turned off and all was darkness.

* * *

Stan waited a bit until he was sure that the tattooed man was asleep, and then quietly stepped over the chain-link and tiptoed over to the shed. He unbarred the door and slowly slid it open, a crack of light shining through, just enough to make out a small figure collapsed in the back of the shed.

Shit.

Stan crept into the shed slowly and inspected the body. The person wasn't dead, just passed out, but they were breathing faintly and when Stan pressed his ear to their chest he just heard a faraway resounding. Stan looked up and inspected the face, but he couldn't see much, he realized. Blood dripped down from the person's forehead, and Stan saw a broken bottle, glass shards surrounding the head. The tattooed man had hit this person over the head with a glass bottle, Stan realized. This person was lucky to still be alive.

Stan wasn't sure if it was Kyle, but even if it wasn't, he had to get.. whoever this was out of here. He put one arm under the person's back and another in the crook of their knees and slowly picked them up. The person was extremely light, which was a bit disconcerting, concerning that they were about as big as Stan.

Wait a minute. The person's shirt was soaking wet. With what? Liquid from the bottle?

Stan gingerly laid the person down on their stomach and looked at the shirt. It was drenched in blood.

Blood from the head? No, a head wound wouldn't bleed _that _much…

Stan lifted up the shirt. The first thing he noticed was the brand, the brand he had seen on Kyle's back so long ago, was on this person's back.

This was Kyle.

The second thing he noticed was that the brand was the exact same mark as the tattoo on Kyle's kidnapper's shoulder.

And the third thing he noticed was that a large, jagged shard of glass was sticking out of Kyle's back.


	19. Chapter 19

_~ Previously ~_

_Stan lifted up the shirt. The first thing he noticed was the brand, the brand he had seen on Kyle's back so long ago, was on this person's back._

_This was Kyle._

_The second thing he noticed was that the brand was the exact same mark as the tattoo on Kyle's kidnapper's shoulder._

_And the third thing he noticed was that a large, jagged shard of glass was sticking out of Kyle's back._

* * *

Shit.

If he pulled out the glass, Kyle would almost definitely bleed more. But if he didn't, lifting him and transport would be a lot harder. Stan decided to leave the glass in for the moment, as he didn't want to lost Kyle, not when he was so close to getting him back- again.

Slowly, he picked up Kyle, making sure not to touch the area around the glass embedded in his back. Stan searched the decrepit, unconscious face, feeling another wave of revulsion wash over him. What kind of person would do such a thing? Why?

Kyle's eyelids fluttered. Stan was so shocked he nearly dropped him. Kyle opened his eyes and Stan could see moonlight glistening in those small, clear, old pupils, although they were unfocused(_probably a concussion, _Stan decided, _from the bottle to the head_). Kyle's cracked lips parted.

"Who…?"

That voice again. That same voice Stan had heard a year ago, when they were two scared little boys pretending to be older than they really were to hide their fear, that same voice from the bandaged sixteen year old in the hospital bed, that same voice that sounded of rust and memories and nightmares.

It had been too long since Stan had heard that voice.

"Kyle. It's me." Stan whispered. Kyle's eyes widened, shining eerily.

"..Stan?" Stan smiled. "You came…"

"Of course."

"I thought you had forgotten," Kyle said after a moment. "I thought you had moved on."

"I.. It's a long story," Stan admitted. "Let's get you out of here, first. Can you walk?"

"I think so." Stan slowly set Kyle on his feel. Kyle wobbled unsteadily, and then a moment later collapsed. Stan bent down and picked Kyle up again, bride style. Stan felt Kyle's hands slide around his neck, securing himself so he wouldn't fall.

"Okay, on three we'll leave. Got it?" Stan said.

"Wait!" Kyle interjected. "I can't leave! He'll- he'll find me, or you, or… he'll kill you, he'll kill all of us… we can't escape, he-"

"No, he won't. I won't let him. No one is going to hurt you, Kyle, not anymore."

Kyle's eyes widened, and Stan realized he wasn't looking at Stan anymore, but at something behind him. Kyle started to say something, but Stan shushed him. He looked back at Kyle. He was terrified, petrified, shaking and trembling. His dirty fingernails clenched into Stan's back. Stan began to turn around, confused, as something hard hit him on the head and he felt himself falling, falling, falling…

* * *

Stan's eyelids fluttered open, feeling something liquid and hot drip onto the side of his face. He looked up, and saw Kyle's bloodied face. Behind him was the tattooed man, throwing punches and kicking randomly. Stan braced himself, closing his eyes, but the blow never came. He opened his eyes and saw with horror that Kyle was on top of him, acting as a human shield, absorbing the tattooed man's blows so that Stan was not hurt.

Stan scrambled to his feet but the tattooed man didn't seem to notice, his eyes gleaming horribly as he just continued to beat Kyle's crumpled body.

"Run," Kyle whispered. Stan stayed where he was, paralyzed by shock. "I said, _run!" _Stan turned on his heel and ran out the shed, looking behind him to see Kyle collapsed, in the corner, covering his head with his arms.

Stan ran out of the yard and over the chain link, grabbing his backpack. He knew he should go back, save Kyle, defeat the tattooed man, but fear seemed to course through his veins and all he could do was run and run and run.

* * *

Stan splashed through puddles, his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans soaking wet. He could still see Kyle's blood on his shirt, lurid in the lamplight.

He paused after a while, bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air. Why couldn't he save Kyle? Why was he so afraid? He had gone so far to find him and now that he had, he had abandoned him. Why had he ran, why had he fled as Kyle was dying? Stan crumpled to the ground, holding his head in his hands.

Why was he such a coward? Why couldn't he save Kyle? Why couldn't he do anything but run and run and run- run from his memories, from his feelings, from Kyle when he had most needed him…

And in that clear, starless night, Stan cried, cried like the little boy he was, cried for the boy who had grown up alone, cried as the fear seeped out of his body with the tears, cried as he realized what he would have to do.

* * *

Stan's feet flew across the pavement as he ran, ran as if the world was ending, ran in the opposite direction, back to Kyle. He could feel his penknife in his pocket, jiggling as his legs moved up and down. He was done with running away. He was running _toward._

He reached the house and jumped over the chain link fence in a single bound and slammed the door to the shed open, breathing heavily.

"Ky-" he stopped midsentence. Both Kyle and the tattooed man were gone.

* * *

Stan cast a fleeting glance around the shed. Nothing was there, just broken glass, a toppled broom, and some blood smeared on the floor and wall.

Wait.

Kyle's shirt and pants, red staining the ripped fabric, were crumpled on the floor.

No way… he wouldn't have…?

Stan turned on his heel and ran, shouting loudly.

"Kyle! KY-LE!_ KYLE!" _he screamed, getting no response except for the echo of his panicked voice. He sprinted through the dirty streets, hearing nothing.

Thoughts resounded in his head; headlines from newspapers- _"Boy found in motel room, alone"_; snippets of gossip-"Did you hear-" "missing" "homicide"; "_Body in dumpster"_…

Shit. Stan hadn't been gone that long, Kyle's couldn't be far… right? Stan could only hope he was right, yet everywhere he looked there was nobody to be found. He jogged to a stop and leaned against an old, smelly dumpster, sliding down until his bottom hit the ground, thoughts still bouncing around the inside of his skull.

_"Body in dumpster"_

_"Body"_

_"dumpster"_

_"Body" "dumpster" "body" "dumpster" "dumpster" "dumpster" "dumpster"-_

Stan jumped up and lifted the lid of the blue dumpster, pulling his shirt over his nose to block some of the odor that reeked from old garbage. He scanned the contents of the dumpster, but all he saw was several black garbage bags and a curdled, moldy cottage cheese which had spilled over all of the other black bags.

Except one.

Stan removed the penknife from his pocket and opened it, then cut a slit in the garbage bag and pried it open.

Inside was the naked body of Kyle.

* * *

Stan shook Kyle's shoulders in an attempt to wake him up, but Kyle's head just lolled back and quaked limply, his mouth partly open. Stan pressed his ear to Kyle's chest, listening for a heartbeat, for a sound, for _anything-_ but there was nothing.

"Kyle, don't you dare die, don't you _dare _die, Kyle, I've come all this way, if you die now…" Stan pleaded. He pressed both hands to Kyle's chest and pushed, thinking of all the doctor shows he had watched, trying to remember what they had done.

He leaned down and enclosed Kyle's mouth with his own, plugging Kyle's nose with one hand, the other on his chest. He could taste blood, Kyle's blood, on his tongue and breathed, shoving Kyle's chest, hoping to fill his lungs with some air. Kyle didn't breathe. Stan tried again, and again, and again, until it seemed useless and stupid and his eyes filled with tears and Kyle's lungs refused to cooperate, his heart stubbornly wouldn't beat, until Stan could try no more, as he laid his head on Kyle's bare, lifeless chest and sobbed, as

Kyle

gasped

and Stan pulled back, startled, and Kyle gasped again, reaching, struggling for air and Stan pressed his mouth to Kyle's one more time and _pushed _and Kyle's back arched and his heart jumped and his lungs inflated and he _breathed_ and Stan tied his arms around Kyle and laughed and cried and laughed some more as Kyle breathed- what a miraculous thing breathing was- and Kyle _lived. _


	20. Chapter 20

Kyle was unconscious, but still breathing. Every so often Stan would bend down and listen to the sound of Kyle's heart, feel his breath tickling his forehead, making sure he was still alive, then would continue trudging on. He had taken his sweatshirt off and covered Kyle's naked, limp body with it, but now Stan was freezing. He held Kyle closer to him.

He had been walking for two hours now, carrying Kyle's body in his arms, hoping to find a police station, a hospital, or just some place of rest. He could feel blood drip down the back of his neck from when the tattooed man had hit him. No food and water for a whole day, plus his injuries and exhaustion from carrying Kyle, however light he may be, weighed down on him. He took two last, stumbling steps, and thencollapsed, unconscious, on the cold hard concrete.

* * *

"Hey, you. Boy. You okay?"

Stan opened his eyes. Curious brown eyes stared down at him, framed by curly black hair. Stan pushed himself into an upright position, shielding his eyes. He looked around and realized that he was on the pavement, Kyle next to him, Stan's coat covering his bare skin.

"Yeah," Stan said slowly. "Yeah, I'm okay. But he's not," he nudged Kyle's still unconscious body. "we need to get him to a hospital."

The woman nodded. She unlocked a pickup truck that Stan just noticed was parked by where he had been laying and opened the door. "Get in." He nodded gratefully and gingerly picked up Kyle and headed into the truck.

They drove for a while. At a red stop light, the woman looked at Kyle's limp form draped over Stan.

"I'm gonna make a call real quick. Y'alright?" Stan nodded. She pulled a beaten up cellphone from her pocket and punched a couple numbers and then held it to her ear. "Yeah, this is Dion. I found him."

Stan who was pretending not to listen, staring out of the window, looked up.

"Uh-huh. Got it. No, there's someone else. Yeah. That kid." Dion continued. She held the phone up higher to her ear and the sleeve of her sweater rolled down.

Stan peeked out of the corner of his eye. On her wrist, in small black ink, was the same tattoo the tattooed man had had, the same mark on Kyle's back.

* * *

Dion hung up and Stan quickly looked away, pretending he hadn't seen anything. He looked out the window, noting that he could see his reflection in it, Dion reflected behind him. The lights had changed and she started driving again.

Stan slowly reached around and undid his seat buckle, hoping she didn't notice. He cringed when it made a loud popping noise and hastily drew the belt over his chest but didn't plug it. Dion narrowed her eyes, then turned back to the windshield.

Keeping one hand around Kyle's waist, Stan laid a hand on the door hinge and slowly unlocked it. Pressing down on the handle, he was ready to leap out, Kyle in tow, when something cold, hard, and round pressed against the side of his head.

Keeping his head still, his gaze slowly rotated and focused on the gun pressed to his head.

"Move or I shoot," Dion ordered, her voice deadly serious. Stan knew that this was no bluff, that this was very real, that he had a very metal, very cold, very hard and smelling slightly of nickels, very real gun to his head. Stan cautiously raised his hands in the air above his head like he had seen people do on TV. He lost his grip of Kyle and he tumbled to the floor of the car. _Sorry, _Stan apologized in his head, wincing. Dion gave him one last, fixating look, and then turned her attention back to the interstate they were driving on, one hand on the wheel and one hand holding the gun.

There was movement by his feet and Stan almost kicked whatever it was, but instead looked down. Kyle was waking up, his eyelids fluttering and Stan caught a glimpse of perfect green peeking through his eyelashes. Kyle blinked, once, twice, and then lifted his head, looking up. His eyes widened when he saw Stan holding a finger to his mouth, a gun held to his head by someone with that mysterious tattoo on their wrist. His eyes darted up and focused on the door handle. He looked at Stan and then gestured with his head to the handle. Stan nodded.

The car paused at a red light and Dion relaxed her hold on the gun for a second.

One second was all he needed.

_Now, _Stan thought, and in one fluid moment he scooped Kyle off the floor and opened the door of the car and jumped out. He heard the gun shoot and ducked, running for dear life, Kyle holding onto his hand tightly. He heard the gun fire a couple more times and sprinted faster, hoping that none of the bullets had hit him or Kyle. They ran off the interstate and into an old abandoned barn that was by a railroad. Once they were inside Stan bent over, hands on his knees, panting, but Kyle was still running frantically and pulled him upright again, leading him up rickety old stairs onto an unsteady hayloft.

"Kyle, I'm not sure this is safe," Stan said, but Kyle shushed him. Stan spotted a dusty pair of blue denim overalls on a stack of hay and tossed it to Kyle. "Here, put this on." Kyle nodded and turned his back, stepping into the overalls which were much too big for him, wrumpling over his feet. ((Yes, I just invented the word 'wrumpling,' deal with it.)) He looked around furtively, and then hesitantly sat down on a bale of hay. Stan got up and joined him.

"Okay, I've got something I need to ask." Kyle nodded. "Well, uh.. I don't really know how to put this, but- why is everyone trying to kidnap _you? _I mean, no offense, but you're not like, the president or something, so why is it such a huge deal to make sure that you are caught? And what's the deal with this tattoo thingy? I mean, you got it on your back, that dude had it on his shoulder, Dion had it on her wrist… what the hell is going on?!" Stan demanded.

Kyle leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He kneaded his forehead with his fingers, running them through his hair. Finally, he spoke.

"It's because I know stuff."

"What?"

"The first- the first kidnapper was lazy and stupid. He let slip some important info. See, there's this whole… underground organization thing. A secret gang that smuggles drugs, illegal immigrants, criminals, and prostitutes from Mexico and other countries, and deals with human trafficking." Kyle paused.

"And, well, when the first kidnapper got a hold of me, there wasn't a particular reason. He was just broke and needed drugs and I was his ticket to easy money. However, I overheard some very important information from a conversation between him and his dealer, and the dealer- the tattooed man- knows this. If I let this information leak, it would mean the arrest of all these people in this gang and possibly more. It would mean the end of the lucrative business that's been going on for twenty years, maybe more, and they don't want that. So they want to keep me hidden, keep me from telling this information. They want to make sure that I don't escape, that I don't run away, that I lose all hope and everything to live for, that I get beaten down so hard I can't move, so that I won't speak a word or move an inch from where they want me." Kyle stated simply, no emotion in his voice.

"That's- that's horrible," Stan expressed. "Why would they do that?"

"Because I know too much."

"But… what _is _this information? What is so important that it is worth a human life?" Stan queried.

"I can't tell you."

"Why?"

"Because then they would go after you too. And I can't let you get hurt. Not anymore. You shouldn't have come for me, Stan. You should have just left me there to rot." Kyle's voice didn't waver, and no tears fell, but his hands curled into small fists, clenching the blue denim of his overalls.

"I couldn't do that. I wouldn't be able to leave you. Never," Stan said, knowing that what he said was true.

"Then I'll have to leave you."

_"What?" _Stan cried.

"They've seen you with me. They'll assume that you know too, or at least know enough to be a threat. Stan, now it's not only me, it's you too. You've seen the tattoos. You know how brutal they can be. I can bear it, but I won't let that happen to you. So if you won't leave, then I'll have to leave." Kyle stood up and made to leave, his back to Stan, but Stan reached out and grabbed his hand.

"No. I won't let you leave," Stan commanded.

"Why.." Stan could see that Kyle was trembling. He looked at Kyle quizzically. "Why did you come back for me? When I told you to run, why didn't you run?! Why did you return, why did you even come at all?!"

Kyle yanked his hand from Stan's and turned towards him, angry tears trickling down his cheeks. "Now you're going to die, Stan! Don't you understand? They're coming. So run. _Run!" _Kyle fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands, sobbing.

Stan slowly stood up, taken aback by the info. Finally he spoke: "I'm not going to run. Not anymore. I've done enough running in my lifetime already. It's time for me to stop. I'm going to stay with you, Kyle, even if it kills me." He extended his hand. Kyle didn't take it, and instead stood up as well. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Then you leave me no choice." He turned and headed up the hayloft, climbing a ladder Stan hadn't even noticed was there.

"Wait!" Stan called up but Kyle kept climbing. Stan hastily placed a foot on the ladder and then a hand, and then his whole weight. However, he hadn't taken into account that Kyle was much lighter than he was, and the rung broke. Stan grasped the sides of it and tried to lift himself up, but ended up just breaking the ladder in half. "What are you doing?" he yelled up the shaft, dust motes glowing gold in the sun's rays. He didn't get an answer. "_What are you doing?!" _he shouted again, growing more and more frustrated and terrified as the moments of silence built up.

"Saving you," Kyle eventually called down.

_"What?" _

"They want the info, right? Well, the only way to make sure that it's gone forever, that you're safe, is to get rid of it." Kyle paused. "And, me too."

"Kyle, get the hell down from there! Right now! Kyle! _Kyle!" _Stan's concerned voice rose higher in pitch as he became more and more distraught.

"Stan," Kyle called down. "I found the words." Stan almost asked _"What words?" _but then remembered, that rainy day in the park…

* * *

_ "The sky is empty, a void, nothing more. How can I fill it? How can I give it the words when I have none myself? How… can I.." his voice trailed off. _

_ "We'll-We'll give it words," Stan whispered. "we'll fill it with our words, our stories. We'll grow words and cultivate them and harvest syllables, nouns, vowels and pour it into the sky and we'll fill it up. You and me both. Together, okay?" He held out his hand. Kyle reached out hesitantly then paused, glancing up at Stan's face. Stan smiled reassuringly and Kyle took his hand and Stan helped him up. "Together," Stan said again, not letting go of Kyle's hand._

_ "And if a person is empty? A shell, no feelings, not even know how to feel," Kyle's voice quivered. "how can you fill someone like that?"_

_ "There are certain words," Stan started, not knowing where he was going. "special words. Magical words that can fill someone up and make them feel so… full of emotion and feeling and words beyond describing, words that can heal and destroy and create and raze civilizations, words that are the bricks and mortar of mankind, that can fill anyone up, no matter how empty. Words that a person can live on, feed off of just by hearing them. Words more precious than money or oil or gold."_

_ "What are the words?" _

_ "I- I don't know," Stan said truthfully. "Not at the moment anyway. But I know they exist, and I know that we can find them. Together," he added._

* * *

Was that what Kyle meant by "the words?" He still remembered that? Stan paused, bewildered.

"The words," Kyle continued, "are," he paused,

"I love you." He said it quietly, and then again, louder, "I love you, Stan. And it's for you that I'm doing this. Goodbye,"

_"No! KYLE!" _Stan screamed at the top of his lungs, but it was too late, as he saw out of a hole in the hayloft wall, Kyle suspended, in air, like some obscene puppet, his limbs splayed, hair rushing forward. Their eyes met for a second, and Stan could see written in the shimmering bright green, "sorry." He rushed forward, his hand outstretched, trying to grab Kyle, or catch him, or both, but it was too late.


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: Sorry this took a while to update. I was honestly just going to end it there, but so many people requested updates. I'm not sure where the story will go from here, since I planned to end it with that last chapter. If it loses it's quality, I'm sorry. But I feel bad for Kyle and Stan, and they deserve some peace and quiet for once, so maybe things will end happily for these two? I don't know, we'll have to wait and see!_

* * *

Stan awoke, grass tickling his nose. He sneezed and then opened his eyes, blinking twice as the glare of the sun hit his pupils.

"Kyle..?" he gasped, his throat feeling like sandpaper. He looked over next to him, but there was nothing there, save a crumpled piece of paper. He folded it out and read the words scrawled hastily on the page.

_I'm sorry. I can't let anything happen to you. I shouldn't have survived the fall. I have to leave. Don't come after me. –Kyle_

He sat up quickly, feeling pain shoot through his head. He winced and rubbed his forehead, then looked around. _"Kyle!" _he yelled, hearing the panic in his voice. He slowly got up, and started a sort of stumbling run, an uneven gait as he half limped, half sprinted.

"Like hell I'm going to leave you," he grunted. He had barely ran a hundred yards when he had to bend to his knees, panting. Looking down, he saw a sort of trail of stamped down grass, uneven and curving, as if someone injured had attempted to run, but hadn't succeeded too well.

Stan rose and began running again, his breath uneven and jagged. He made sure to look down and follow the trail. He hadn't gone too far when the footprints in the grass seemed to slow down, seemed to be more of a stumble than a run. His lungs burning, Stan took a couple more steps and bent down again, sweat trickling from his brow.

Wait.

There was blood, small speckles and droplets of blood staining the grass.

Fuck.

_"Kyle!" _Stan yelled, hearing no response. He started running again, as fast as he could. Kyle had made it this far, so he couldn't have been _that _badly injured, right? Right?

Stan's foot caught on something and he tripped on the unidentified object.

Groaning, he pulled himself off the ground at looked at what he had tripped on. A curly mane of red hair sat beside his foot. Stan almost shrieked and dropped down to the ground. There was no doubt about it, it was Kyle, in those overalls, lying on his stomach, blood soaking the back of his overalls. Stan held two fingers to his neck. Luckily Kyle had a pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

_God, Kyle seems to have the worst luck, doesn't he? _Stan thought bitterly, gingerly pulling the back of the overalls away to expose Kyle's bloodied back.

The large, jagged shard of glass was still there, not driven further into Kyle's back, probably from the impact of the fall. _I'm such an idiot, _Stan cursed in his head. _I completely forgot.._ Shit. If he pulled it out now, Kyle would probably bleed more. However, if he didn't, it would probably dig even deeper into Kyle's flesh and cause more damage. How had Kyle been walking around with that sticking out of his skin?! Stan knew that he wouldn't have the guts or stamina to do that, and he had to admire Kyle's stubbornness.

Okay. Pulling out the glass it was, then. Stan grimaced and wrapped his fingers round the glass and tugged gently. Nothing happened, the glass was in farther than he expected. He tried again, pulling harder. He moved the glass a little bit, but it wasn't coming out. God, how deep was it wedged in? Stan tried one more time and yanked full and fast and the glass came out.

Stan gasped. The shard wasn't so much a shard as a chunk. The bottom was curved and jagged, obviously from the bottom of the bottle that had been broken, and a lot larger than Stan had thought. In fact, there seemed to have been more in Kyle's body than sticking out.

Stan felt nauseous and clapped a hand over his mouth. Blood bubbled from Kyle's wound and soon was pouring. Stan couldn't hold it any longer and leaned over and puked by Kyle's unconscious form, feeling his guts draining.

God, who would even do such a thing? Why? What sort of sick, twisted kind of person would rape someone repeatedly on a pile of broken glass?! What had Kyle ever done to deserve this? Nothing, and yet why was it that this happened to him over and over and over again? Why was Kyle _fine_ with it? Why didn't he try to escape, try to leave?

Stan knew he had to stop the blood flow or Kyle could bleed to death. He took off his shirt and ripped the cloth into strips, tying them tightly around the deep wound on Kyle's back. Blood soaked the cloth in a matter of minutes but Stan hoped that it helped somehow. He wanted nothing more than to just lie down next to Kyle and just go to sleep, let the ebbing pain in his head and spine numb away, but he knew that if he did that, Kyle could die.

Why did this always happen to _Kyle? _Why not someone else? Why was it that Kyle had been in that particular alleyway at that particular time, why had it been that Kyle who was so fiery and quick and sharp and gotten beaten down into a lifeless, emotionless, husk of himself, why had it been Kyle who was kidnapped and raped and beaten and branded and god knows what else… Why was Kyle the one who had to carry this vital, deadly information, why was it that because of someone else's mistakes and cruelty that Kyle had to suffer countless times?

Goddammit, it wasn't fucking _fair! _ Stan beat the ground with his fists, feeling more helpless than ever before. Eventually, silently, he picked up Kyle and swung his limp body over his shoulders in a fireman's lift and began to walk.

* * *

Two hours Stan walked along the side of the freeway. He made sure to stay far from the view of cars, in case any more of those weird tattoo gang people were waiting. Two hours he walked until he came to a tiny town, Arvada. Just beyond the "Welcome to Arvada" sign was a dingy McDonalds, almost empty except for a few workers gossiping as they mopped the floors.

Stan pushed open the door and stumbled in, the bell ringing. The two workers looked up, first taking in his dirty face with tracks of dried blood, and then noticing the bloodied unconscious body slung over his shoulders.

"Boy, you need me to call the hospital?" the first one asked, obviously concerned. Stan nodded and lifted Kyle off his back and laid him gently on one of the Formica tables. She pulled out her phone and dialed. "911 okay?" She headed to the back, ear to the cellphone receiver. Stan nodded again, too exhausted to even speak. He dropped onto one of the chairs, his back aching from carrying Kyle such a long way.

The second worker stood there awkwardly, then dropped her mop and ran behind the counter. She fumbled with something and then pulled out a first aid kit, rushing over to the table where Kyle lay.

"Can I..?" she questioned before pulling Kyle's overalls down just enough to reveal his back. She gasped. "What-who did this?" Still saying nothing, Stan pulled the shard of glass from the front zipper of his pocket. He had kept it in case it had fingerprints, saliva samples from the drink, anything that could identify the tattooed man. She winced and carefully unwrapped Stan's makeshift bandages.

"Yeuch…Lashonda?" she called back. "Ambulance coming?"

"Yeah, be here in fifteen minutes!" Lashonda called from behind the counter.

"He gonna last till then?" she asked, looking up at Stan.

"Hope so," he said quietly. "I hope so." She nodded, pursing her lips.

"Who even..?" she murmured, not expecting a response. Stan shrugged. "You know him?" Stan nodded. "Can I get you and his name? Not creepy or anything, but just… to tell the police."

"I'm Stan Marsh," Stan said slowly. "And this- this is Kyle Broflovski."

A siren sounded outside and then stopped. Stan heard a car door slam and then the door busted open by two men with a stretcher. One roughly scooped up Kyle and dumped him on the stretcher ungracefully, then wheeled it back out the door and into the waiting ambulance.

"You coming, boy?" the ambulance-stretcher-doctor-whatever he was called yelled back. Stan nodded and ran up into the ambulance just before the doors slammed shut.


	22. Chapter 22

_Authors note: Sorry this took so long, I have finals coming up and just generally a bunch of stuff happening.  
_

_I'm also thinking of starting a Hetalia fanfic (spamano). It will hopefully be more lighthearted than this! If you are interested, I may post it._

___Anyway, hope you enjoy the chapter! Since I haven't posted in a while, I made it really long. I also might not update for a while, or at least until school ends. Sorry. :/_

* * *

Stan held Kyle's hand all the way to the hospital, as they took a blood sample and injected syringes into his arms and measured his heart rate and temperature and pulse and god knows what else, as the doors opened again and they pushed inside the hospital, Stan trotting alongside the fast moving stretcher. They brought Kyle into a room, telling Stan to wait outside. He leaned against the wall, sighing. After what seemed like thirty, maybe forty minutes, a doctor came out and pulled the surgical mask of her face. Her tag read Kaitlin Thomas.

"Are you related to him?" she asked.

"No." Stan replied, looking at his feet.

"Where are his family?"

Stan hesitated. "He doesn't have one."

"Ah. Well," she cleared her throat. "I saw the glass that was in his back. It splintered while it was inside him and… we're going to have to go through surgery to remove all the smaller shards. We need a parent or guardian to sign for him as he is unconscious right now, but we need to get this done quickly or else he could die. If you know him or are a 'significant other', you are eligible to sign for him." She said quickly, adjusting her glasses. She held out a clipboard with some forms on it and a pen. Stan signed hurriedly, the pen moving over the paper fluidly.

She nodded and went back into the room. Stan could hear her yelling something, and then the doors burst open and a group of medics hurried Kyle's stretcher down the hallway.

* * *

God, what was this nightmare? Did it ever end? Couldn't him and Kyle get some peace for once, couldn't Kyle be able to live a pain-free life, without being afraid or having cause to be afraid? Did Kyle just have _really _bad luck or was it something different, something deeper than just information that made these people so terrified?

How could they think that _Kyle _was a threat? He was just this skinny little guy who knew something, right? Stan felt that there was something Kyle hadn't told him, something beyond just "information." If Kyle had information they didn't want to get out, they would have just killed him right away. Why did they draw it out, torture him, make sure that he felt pain and misery and hopelessness beyond anything Stan could understand, just for knowing stuff?

And how could they have known where he was? How could they have followed him all the way to South Park, kept tabs on him, observed him from afar? Kyle's first kidnapper had been killed, right? He had been the one to go to South Park and kidnap Kyle that night so long ago in the alleyway.

But- why South Park?

It was a tiny dot on the map, an outlier, an inconsequential town buried in the mountains where all the world's shit seemed to converge, the armpit of the universe. And that man had lived in Denver. Why would he come all the way up to South Park, a several hour drive, when there were so many homeless and lost kids already in Denver?

Had this not been a spur-of-the-moment kidnapping just to get some easy money? Was this… _planned? _

Stan slid down the wall slowly. If what he thought was true, then there was nowhere that Kyle would be safe.

* * *

"You may see him now," she said, and pulled back the curtain to the hospital room. Stan took a deep breath and stepped inside, painfully reminded of the first time seeing Kyle after six years, in that dingy hospital room that smelled like old people and lipstick, where he was nothing more than a husk, a shell of a boy.

"Kyle," he whispered, but he did not stir. "Kyle," he said again, louder, but he still got no response.

"He's in a coma," the nurse said. Stan looked over at her, shocked. "Too much blood loss. You're lucky you got him here in time, or else he would have died." Stan nodded weakly.

"Is he- is he gonna wake up?"

"We don't know," she said, smiling sadly. Stan looked back over at Kyle, air mask on his face, packets of blood seeping into his thirsty veins, pulse sensor beeping steadily up and down.

He was used to seeing Kyle injured, but now in the bright fluorescent light, his bruises stood out sickly against his skin, purplish blue-black against pale skin that hadn't seen the sun for a year. There was a large bruise on his head around his eye, where Stan assumed he had been hit with the bottle, ringed with yellow. There were raw red marks and blisters on his wrists, his lip was split, and fingerprints were clearly visible on his neck.

"Who did this?" the nurse asked softly. Stan turned around, surprised, as he hadn't realized that she was still there.

"I don't know," Stan said, shaking his head, holding on to the edge of Kyle's hospital bed to prevent his trembling body from falling. "But I know where he lives. I know where he," he pointed at Kyle, "was kept. And I'm gonna give whoever hurt him hell."

"Leave that to the police," the nurse said. "You're too young to do this by yourself."

Of course! The police! Stan had forgotten about them. He couldn't remember the tattooed man's address but he knew where his house was and how to get there.

Someone knocked on the door and stepped in, closing it behind them. Stan saw that they were in a blue policeman's uniform. This was what he needed.

"Sir, I know where he lives," Stan said, rushing towards the policeman. "The man who did that to him." The policeman nodded.

"Thank you, but we have some other things to take care of. I am told that you are," he checked his notebook, "Stanley Marsh. And this is Kyle Broflovski." Stan nodded, impatient. He just wanted to go back and kill that tattooed man, not do paperwork.

"Stanley Marsh, you are under arrest for suspicion of abuse, rape, torture, and human trafficking."

* * *

"I _told _you, I'm innocent!" Stan yelled across the interrogation table at the cop. He looked at Stan skeptically.

"What evidence do you have to prove this claim?"

"I don't have any with me, but I can show you where the actual person who did that to Kyle lives!"

"Oh?" The inquisitor raised an eyebrow. "What's the address?" He scribbled something on a pad of paper.

"I don't know the address. But I know how to get there, so please, _please _let me take you, if you'll just undo these handcuffs.." he pleaded earnestly, hoping the officer had at least a scrap of kindness and morality deep down in their heart somewhere.

"But when we take you, and undo your handcuffs, you'll just run off, won't you?" Stan stiffened. "So we can't know that you are telling the truth, can we? How do we know that you won't escape?"

"I- uh, I.." Stan thought for an answer desperately. "You can keep me in handcuffs, next to a bunch of policemen. I won't run off, I promise. But I can show you where the _real _criminal lives."

The officer thought for a second. Then it was several seconds, then a minute. It seemed years of Stan sitting there in handcuffs, chewing his lip nervously, his palms sweating, until he finally nodded.

"Let's go," he said.

* * *

"You make a right there… then down this alley- left! There! Left! And go down this road here, and go alongside the railroad tracks, and here. Here it is!" Stan instructed from the passenger seat of the car. His hands were still handcuffed so he could only gesture with his head, feeling like a performing seal bouncing a ball on its nose.

Two more policemen sat behind him, supposedly making sure he didn't escape, but secretly playing hangman with each other in their inspector's notebooks behind their boss's back.

The car pulled up to the battered house. One of the policemen behind Stan put their notebook away and stepped out, opening Stan's car door and undoing his seatbelt so he could get out. He jumped over the low chain-link fence and headed towards the shed.

"Wait!" one of the policemen said. "This is private property. We can't conduct a proper search without a search warrant," The other two policemen nodded.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to wait a while, son," another said. He was clearly the other two's boss, the one who had been driving the vehicle.

"This can't wait!" Stan protested. "We need to find this guy _now! _He could have already gone on the run!"

"Can't be helped," the boss said. "Fielder," he barked.

"Yes, sir?" the shorter policeman straightened up.

"Call the office, ask for a search warrant."

"Right away, sir." Fielder answered and dug out a phone from the back pocket of his uniform. The boss leaned against the police car and lit a cigarette, smoking it solemnly while waiting.

"How long does it normally take to get a search warrant?" Stan asked. The boss looked at him.

"It can take from around fifteen minutes to an hour, depending on how busy the office is." He turned back to Fielder, who was chattering on his phone. "Any luck?"

Fielder covered the mouth piece of the phone. "Just a minute sir, they're getting it approved." The boss nodded, blowing out a puff of smoke. Stan merely watched as the scene unfolded, reminding him of all those cop dramas he had watched.

He had somewhat expected them to bust through the door, demanding arrest and taking pictures and putting up police tape, with a detective in a deerstalker with a pipe and long jacket, and not three bored policemen on their cellphones smoking cigarettes waiting for a certificate to say that they could actually do their job for once.

"Sir?" Fielder looked up from his phone. "We've got the warrant."

* * *

The policeman who had been playing Tetris on his phone the whole time they were waiting for the warrant, who Stan later learned was named Murphy opened the door of the shed and turned on the light.

"Holy shit.." one of them exclaimed. The cigarette fell out of the boss's mouth as he stared, agape at the scene before him.

It was worse than Stan had imagined; it had been too dark to see properly when he was in there, trying to get Kyle out, but now with the lights on he was witness to the full horror.

There was broken glass littered on the floor, obviously from that previous night, some shards bloodstained. Stan looked away, his fists clenching. He was going to find that tattooed manand _kill _him, make him feel the pain Kyle had felt..

The smell was awful, and Stan covered his nose with his sleeve as he took a step further into the shed. There was a small, ratty blanket in a corner with old, red splotches from long ago staining the torn fabric. Something shiny caught his eye and he looked down, and then nearly puked, disgusted by what he saw.

There was a pair of handcuffs, the insides slightly rusted and reddish- _Of course, _Stan thought, _that's where Kyle got the marks and blisters on his wrists from- _and a sharpened knife lying next to it. Stan gagged, feeling bile rise in his throat, mixed with confusion, terror, and sheer anger. He remembered seeing Kyle's scars that first time, and him saying,

_"Once he 'lent' me to his dealer in return for some crank. High off his own drugs, he did… terrible things to me. Things no sane person would do. Although, to tell the truth, neither of us were quite sane at that time."_

Now he knew what Kyle meant, what he had been talking about.

"Son?" a hand rested on his shoulder and Stan looked up. "We believe you," Fielder said simply. "But we're going to have to ask you to vacate the shed so we can look around and take pictures, you know. Alright?"

Stan nodded.

"Hey, you all right?" Stan hesitated, then shook his head no. He didn't want to open his mouth lest he spewed vomit everywhere. "Murphy!" Fielder called. "Come wait with- what was it- Stan, while we search the shed and house." Murphy appeared from behind Fielder and led him out. Stan collapsed to his knees once they were outside, feeling the wet grass tickle his knees through the holes in his worn out jeans.

"I don't- I don't feel so good," he mumbled.

"Curl up- like this," Murphy demonstrated, putting his hands behind his head, "and take deep breaths." Stan did as he said, and after a couple long, slow breaths he started feeling better. "You alright now?" Murphy asked. Stan stretched out of his hunched position and nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks," he murmured.

Murphy nodded. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he commented after a minute. "Did you know him?"

"Yeah," Stan swallowed. "He was my best friend." Murphy winced.

"That's gotta be tough," he said.

Stan swallowed. "It is." They sat there for a moment in silence, until Murphy suggested,

"Want to go wait in the car while they finish up in there?"

"Sure," Stan agreed. He picked himself up off the wet grass and together they went and sat in the car, listening to the radio. Stan didn't even know how exhausted he was until he laid down in the backseat of the car, slowly falling asleep to the static music of 1970's Greatest Hits.

* * *

Murphy shook Stan awake. He blinked and opened his eyes, sunlight filtering in through the car windows. He sat up and immediately noticed that they were not in front of the tattooed man's house anymore, but instead by a Dunkin' Donuts, the boss and Fielder sipping coffees.

"We just got the call," Murphy said. "Kyle's waking up."

* * *

Stan ran down the hallway, not caring about the nurses' angry glances or the occasional "watch it!" from other people clogging up the hospital hallways. All he cared about was Kyle.

He reached his room and swung open the curtain. Kyle was in his bed, lying down, so pale that he blended into the sheets- just like last time at Denver hospital, Stan realized. Kyle turned his face towards Stan and he saw brilliant green amongst the white as a smile formed slowly on Kyle's face.

"Stan!" he called, sounding weak but so happy. Stan rushed towards Kyle and threw his arms around him, his face buried in Kyle's papery thin shoulder. Tentative hands closed around Stan's back, then gripped his shirt tightly, pulling him closer.

"I was so worried," Stan said after a couple moments. "I thought you were going to die."

"Why would you think that?" Kyle said faintly, smiling softly.

"Because, let's see, you almost _fucking died _on me twice before?!" Kyle laughed. "It's not funny," Stan protested. "I'm serious! I don't want to have to freak out or worry about you like I have been! I don't want to have to wake up and wonder where you are and what's happening to you, I don't want to have to worry that you're being _raped _on a pile of glass in a shed in the middle of nowhere, for Christ's sake! Is that really too much to ask?!"

Kyle's grin slowly dripped off his face like molten wax as the words poured out of Stan's mouth. "I was trying to protect you," he said finally, looking away.

"Yeah? Is _this _protecting me?!" Stan yelled, gesturing to the gash on his head, the cuts and bruises which littered his skin from their fall from the barn roof.

"At least you weren't a human _sex doll!" _Kyle yelled back, enraged. Everything he had done, to try to save Stan from his fate and he was going on about a cut on his head? How could Stan say he had suffered when all Kyle had wanted and tried to do was to stop him from suffering? How could he be so ungrateful?

"You weren't protecting either of us! You made me _worse! _Before you came back, I was happy! I was sane and normal and didn't constantly freak out that some jacked-up crazy shit was happening to you! And after you left again, I got better! I forgot and had a girlfriend and a place on the soccer team and good friends and was _happy!_ You are poison, Kyle, and I won't have any part in it!"

"Stan.." Kyle started, but Stan cut him off again.

"I don't care what happened, I don't care what you were trying to do, what you were doing, even _who _you were doing! I don't care what happens to you anymore, okay? We are _done! _Finished!" Stan screamed the last syllable of the word, not even knowing what he was saying anymore. All he knew was that he was pissed off, that Kyle was pissing him off, and that he wanted to go home.

He wanted to curl up on the couch and watch Terrance and Philip with a cup of hot chocolate, like when they were eight and everything was crayons and smily suns and gold star stickers, where the tooth fairy left a dollar under your pillow everytime you lost a tooth and Mom would sing you to sleep with glittering lullabies.

Taking one last look at Kyle, Stan turned on his heel and walked out the door.


	23. Chapter 23

"Stanley!" his mother cried as she opened the door, welcoming him with open arms. "I was so worried! Where did you go, what happened, we called the police and all they said was that you were arrested, what did you _do, _oh god Stanley.." she hugged him so tight he could barely breathe. Not knowing what to do with his arms, he awkwardly patted her back until she let go, her hands on his shoulders.

"Where the _hell _did you go?!" she demanded.

"To look for Kyle."

"I thought so. Why didn't you tell us?" she asked.

Stan looked away. "You wouldn't have let me."

"Of course not, because it was _dangerous!_ What were you thinking? Do you know how worried I've been?"

Stan looked her right in the eye. "Yes. I know exactly how you feel, and I'm sorry." He stepped past her confused gaze and into the house. She turned around.

"You found him." She stated, more of a conformation than a question. Stan nodded. "Is he.."

"He's alive." Stan said, turning to head up the stairs. He didn't want to talk right now, just wanted to get some sleep, to relax, anything.

"Where was he? What had happened?"

Stan paused on the third step. "You don't want to know." He continued walking up the stairs till he got to his room, slamming the door as signal that he didn't want to talk.

* * *

Kyle lay in the hospital bed. The sunset's glow slipped through the window shades, casting orange stripes against his still form. Someone knocked on his door but he didn't look up.

"Dinner," the nurse called. She walked in and handed Kyle a tray. He shook his head.

"I don't want it."

"You have to eat," the nurse goaded. "We're concerned about your weight as it is, you're barely ninety pounds and around seventeen years old. That's not healthy."

"I said I don't want to eat."

"Either you eat it or we give you another IV with nutrients and supplements." She said harshy.

Kyle took the tray and sniffed the food. It looked like macaroni and cheese, what used to have been his favorite. He speared some with his plastic fork and put it in his mouth and chewed. He couldn't taste anything, and when he tried to swallow it stuck in his throat, making him choke. The nurse patted his back.

"You okay?"

He nodded, feeling tears sting his eyes even though he knew it had nothing to do with the choking anymore.

_He was right. I'm a mistake. I'm a monster. I can't do anything right. Can't even die right, can't save Stan right, can't love him right, I can't even live. He was right, He was right the whole time. There's no use escaping, no use at all, because all it seems I can do is hurt people. I was better off locked up, better off in the shed, with Him, because at least I wasn't hurting anyone else._

_I should die._

_I should be dead._

_I deserve to die._

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he didn't make a noise, not a sound, didn't move, didn't even blink, as tears poured from his eyes.

"Hey. Hey, you. You okay?" The nurse patted his back, but he did nothing. She waved her hand in front of his eyes, but they didn't follow, only stared straight ahead. She shook his arm but it wasn't waking him from his trance.

Inside his head, the words were circling around and around, nipping at his brain, bouncing around his skull. He felt lost in the torrent of them and wanted to look to Stan for help, but he was gone.

_"We are _done! _Finished!" _he heard him say, heard his footsteps echo as he left the room.

_I need Stan, I need him, but he's gone, gone, gone it's all my fault all my fault all my fault all my fault all my fault all my fault all my fault…_

Tilting his head back, Kyle let out an ear-piercing scream.

The nurse wanted to scream too. That scream, it wasn't normal. It wasn't _human, _it couldn't be, there were so many emotions mingled in that raw voice- anger, confusion, love, terror, doubt, sadness, happiness, regret, _pain, _so much pain, sounding like a wild animal, caught in a hunter's trap and screaming, crying for help but knowing it wasn't coming, knowing it was going to die, but screaming anyway-

The tray dropped to the floor. The heartbeat monitor was increasing rapidly, moving from a steady beep beep beep to a beepbeepbeepbeepbeep and then nothing, one long, flat note.

* * *

Stan tossed and turned. He couldn't sleep. Sure, it was only seven, but he was exhausted. He couldn't get comfortable, feeling as if little fingers were under the mattress, reaching up and poking him. Every time he closed his eyes he heard a terrible scream, every time he blinked he saw Kyle's dejected face, looking at him from the hospital bed, those big green eyes so happy to see him and then his face when he left, like the light had gone out from his eyes-

No.

He wasn't going to worry about Kyle anymore. The therapist always said that he had to take care of himself before taking care of other people. He had been taking care of Kyle, and neglected himself, he reasoned.

So it was okay for him to leave, because he was doing them both a favor, right? Besides, he couldn't coddle Kyle forever. He would have to grow up, face the real world, step outside of his comfort zone a bit if he wanted to adjust to real life. Stan was just holding him back.

Kyle needed to be in the _real _world, not treated like a toddler. He had to know what the real world was, that things were harder, that you weren't always fed from a silver spoon and sometimes had to make sacrifices.

Sure, the shed had been locked, but there were windows. Kyle could have escaped if he wanted to, right? It couldn't have been _that _bad, I mean…

Stan realized what he was thinking and felt ill. _Oh god, _he thought. **_I'm _**_the one who's been fed from a silver spoon, I'm the one who needs to get used to real life. Kyle made all those sacrifices for me, and this is how I repay him?_

Stan remembered seeing the inside of the shed; the blood, the handcuffs and the knife, broken glass littering the floor. He rubbed his forehead with his knuckles.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Stan picked up his cellphone, charging on the windowsill. He dialed 411 and asked for the Denver Hospital, and was connected quickly.

"Hello?" a woman's voice answered the phone. A voice yelled in the background,"We need a defibrillator in room 207! Hurry, where the hell are the paramedics?!"

"Right here!" another voice answered, and Stan heard wheels turning and then a zap of electricity.

"Hello?" the woman asked again.

"This is Stan Marsh, I'm calling for Kyle Broflovski. Can I please speak to him?"

A pause.

"He's in room 207, I can connect you to him, but I don't think he's going to answer. I'm sorry," she stated matter-of-fact-ly, as if she was reciting the capital of Mozambique or 5 x 4.

_Room 207? Defibrillator? Paramedics?_

_Wasn't the defibrillator that thing that doctors would zap people who had heart attacks or who had just died with, to try to get them to come back to life? _

"I need to speak with him." Stan said. He heard a click and then the phone started ringing again. It hit answerphone.

"Kyle? It's Stan."

A hundred miles away, the heart monitor made a little 'plip.'

"Um, I'm sorry about what I said. I was being stupid, and selfish, and really immature. I'm really, really sorry."

For the third time, the defibrillators zapped Kyle's lifeless chest. His back arched, thrown into the air from the electricity trying to pump his dying heart.

"I understand if you don't want to see me again. I don't blame you. I was being a total dick and said things I shouldn't have. And I'm sorry, and I'll try not to be such a douchebag, and… I was hoping that maybe, you'd, um… could you…"

Beep. The flat line on the screen of the monitor changed and made a little spurt upward,

"maybe, take me back?"

Beep. Beep. Beep. Small jagged lines, little mountains swerved up and down as Kyle's heart beat, as the paramedics cheered, as Kyle began to breathe, as Stan hung up and the phone clicked off.


	24. Chapter 24- The End

Stan stepped off the bus, breathing in the city air. Here he was again- Denver. But now he had a different goal in mind.

* * *

He paused at Kyle's closed hospital door, 207. Would Kyle take him back, or had Stan messed up for the last time?

His hand closed around the door knob and after a moment of hesitation, he swung the door open, feeling a twisting sensation in his gut.

This was it.

Wait. What?

The bed was empty and made, the chairs pushed back, the heart monitor and tubes and breathing helpers were disabled and off. The sheets were empty and bare and spotless, as if no one had ever been in them.

Stunned, Stan backed out and closed the door, accidentally walking into a nurse.

"Excuse me," he said. The nurse smiled warmly at him.

"Oh, it's fine," he said. He began to walk away when Stan called out,

"Wait! Do you know where Kyle Broflovski is?" The nurse stopped and slowly turned around.

"Yes, I do. Why do you need to know?" he replied, sounding almost… suspicious? Of Stan?

"I just want to talk to him," Stan said, running up to meet the nurse, who looked at him strangely, as if he felt pity but also loathing for Stan.

"He's in the morgue,"

* * *

Stan rode the elevator down to the last floor with the nurse, who was still watching him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable, as if he was being examined. The elevator dinged and they got off.

The first thing that struck Stan about the floor was that it was cold, so cold, like he had just walked into a giant freezer. There were metal drawers everywhere, which Stan assumed was where the bodies were kept. He felt a little queasy at the thought of all the dead corpses in this room, but told himself he had to move forward, had to see Kyle.

* * *

"Can you identify the body?" the policeman asked. Kyle gulped and shook his head.

"No."

He didn't want to lie to the police, but then again, he didn't want to be caught and he especially even didn't want Stan to be caught. He knew he should be mad, should hate Stan for saying that, but he found it hard to be mad with him, hard to even think badly of him because in his mind's eye, Stan was always his hero.

When he was little, and Stan had stood up for him against Cartman, when Stan had protected him from giant mutant crabs and crazy Blaintology weirdness, when he saw Stan for the first time in six years, that day in the hospital, and then just a couple days ago, in the shed, he had been so happy.

He had almost felt safe, for once.

Almost.

Because he knew He was coming, he knew that even if he escaped the shed there were even more sheds and back rooms and handcuffs for him, and Stan could do nothing to prevent that.

Footsteps resounded against the hard linoleum and Kyle looked up, not sure what or who he was expecting.

"Kyle!" Stan sprinted forward, seeing the bright red hair illuminated against the colorless room. He stopped a few steps in front of Kyle. "Why are you in a wheelchair?"

Kyle didn't answer.

"Kyle? Are you okay? What happened? I was so worried, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it and I'm so so sorry, Kyle, are you okay? Can you answer me? Kyle?"

Kyle looked up and Stan saw that his eyes were brimming with tears. He blinked and a single teardrop overflowed and dripped down his cheek. Stan wiped it away gently with his thumb. "Kyle?" he asked again.

"I- I didn't think you'd come back," he said eventually. "I thought you hated me." Stan could hear the tears choking his throat, strangling his words painfully.

"I would never hate you," Stan said softly, wiping another tear from Kyle's cheek. Stan thought he saw the faintest of smiles play across Kyle's lips, but maybe he was wrong. "What happened? Why are you in a wheelchair? Are you okay?" he asked again.

Kyle shook his head. "It's nothing," he said slowly.

"He had a stroke." The nurse spoke suddenly. Stan hadn't even realized he was still there. Stan turned to face him.

"What?"

"He had a stroke," the nurse repeated, "after you left. His heart gave out. We were able to bring him back, but-"

"It's my legs, Stan." Stan looked back at Kyle. "I'm paralyzed from the waist down."

* * *

"Will you- will you be able to walk again?" he said quietly, not believing the words he had just heard and yet they were there, they existed, and they were painfully true and he was aware of that.

"We don't know." The nurse's tone was softer now. "It could be temporary, or… it could be permanent." He finished the sentence sourly, as if the words tasted like lemon juice, as if they hurt to say.

"No," Stan said. Kyle looked at him quizzically. "No," he said again, "this can't be right. This isn't true, tell me it's not true Kyle, _please-" _

"It is true," Kyle cut him off. Stan sank to his knees, now at roughly the same height as Kyle.

"Is-is your.." his eyes flicked down to Kyle's crotch for a moment, and then he looked away, blushing.

"Yes. That too," Kyle added. "Sorry."

"Sorry? I'm the one who should be sorry! This is all my fault! If I hadn't said those things, if I hadn't left you, maybe you wouldn't have had the stroke, maybe you'd be walking, maybe you'd be at home, with me, and not stuck in a hospital!" Stan exploded, as guilt weighed down on him.

"It's not your fault,"

"Yes, it is!" Stan protested.

"No, it's not. You couldn't control whether or not I had a stroke, you can't change the past or what you said. You said those things, yes, but it wasn't _you _that hurt me, it was the fact that you rejected me, that it was my fault you got involved in this huge mess, that made my heart falter and my will to live crumble. It's not your fault, Stan."

Stan was reminded of that day where they first met, after the hospital, where Kyle lifted his chin and whispered, "please, don't blame yourself."

This was just like then, and it was always because of Stan's misunderstandings or angry outbursts that Kyle got hurt or stolen.

_No more._

Stan wasn't sure where the words came from, but they appeared inside his head, and he knew what they meant and what he would do.

He picked himself off the floor and stood up, raising himself to his full height.

"Kyle," he said. Kyle looked up at him, confused.

"Stan, what are you-"

"Shh." Stan placed a finger on Kyle's lips, who promptly quieted. "I promise, from this day forth, that I will always, _always _protect you, that I will never let my guard down again, and always tell you the truth, and never ever ever ever hurt you or let you get hurt again."

Kyle giggled.

Stan glared at him. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just that you're being so overdramatic," he laughed. A corner of Stan's mouth lifted up.

"What are you saying, I'm being very serious and professional and," he said in a mock irritated tone as he searched for the right words, "profound."

"What you're being is ridiculous," Kyle commented, and Stan laughed and bent down so that him and Kyle were face to face.

"But seriously. I will protect you, from now on, no matter what. You got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, Superman. I hear you," Kyle teased, still smiling. Kyle looked so… natural, so clean and pure when he was smiling, really smiling, and strangely adorable, a little strand of red hair sticking up and his green eyes, clear from once-shed tears, now lit up in a way Stan hadn't seen for a long, long time.

He looked cute.

Stan didn't normally use the word cute as he tended to hate it, thinking of it as something girls said when describing puppies or Ashton Kutcher's behind, but he couldn't think of a word that more suited Kyle.

Realizing that, he felt his face grow hot and his heart speed up, seeing those pink, full lips of Kyle's that looked so warm and inviting and…

He didn't know why or when or how it happened or who leaned in first, but suddenly they were kissing, not making out or kissing hungrily for the sake of kissing, this felt right, felt like it was their first kiss even though they had kissed before, but both participants felt something different, something special, and knew.

They didn't have to say it, not a word escaped either of their lips, but both knew what the other was thinking, both knew how the other felt, and that was all that mattered.


	25. Chapter 25- Epilogue

_Wow, I can't believe this is the end already! Thank you so much, it's been a great ride and I've had so much fun reading all your reviews and talking with you. I'll be starting a Hetalia fanfic soon, if you're interested, but probably before that some more Style because I love these two so much!_

* * *

_Epilogue_

_6 months later_

* * *

Kyle lay on the bed, lazily twisting a strand of hair between his fingers. It was getting long.

"Stan," he called.

"What?" Stan yelled back from the bathroom, toweling his hair.

"Do you think I should cut my hair?"

"No!" Stan said hastily, opening the bathroom door quickly. Kyle looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "It, uh, it looks cute," he stammered, blushing. His shirt had been put quickly on, not wanting to leave the bathroom fully unclothed, and a water stain had begun to form down the back from the droplets of water left in his hair dripping down his neck and onto his t-shirt.

He turned off the light in the bathroom and flopped down onto the bed beside Kyle, who smiled warmly at him. He frowned.

"My shirt is all wet," he complained. "I blame you."

Kyle eyed him for a minute and then replied seductively, "Well, maybe since it's so wet, you should, uh, take it off."

Stan stared at him with wide eyes. "A-are you sure? That's okay? I mean, I'm not complaining, I'm just making sure it's okay, you know, because you-"

"Stan," Kyle snapped, "if I say it's fine, it's fine. Just take your goddamn shirt off."

"Heh." Stan sat up and pulled his shirt off, his damp hair ruffled from the fabric. He lay back down on the bed and faced Kyle.

He really did look beautiful, Stan thought. Not conventionally beautiful, like the guys you would see in People magazine or in spy movies, but to Stan, even his freckles, his dimples, even the weird crook in his nose and his lopsided smile seemed to Stan more attractive than a million Angelina Jolie's.

He leaned over and gave Kyle a quick peck on his cheek, but Kyle grabbed his face and brought it up to his and kissed him deeply, heat flowing through Stan's body. He kissed Kyle back, closing his eyes, enjoying it, relishing in the feel of Kyle's small nimble fingers wrap around the back of his neck and through his hair, bringing him closer, bringing them together.

Stan rolled on top of Kyle and they stayed that way for a while, kissing passionately. Stan felt something hard against his thigh but paid it no mind. He shifted position, so his knee was resting on Kyle's leg.

Kyle winced. "Ow," he said.

Stan pulled away. "What's wrong?"

Kyle shook his head. "Nothing. It's just my leg…" he looked up at Stan, wide-eyed. "hurts."

* * *

_Twelve months later_

Kyle was walking. A little unsteadily, unsure of himself, but after a couple visits to the doctor and some physical therapy, he was taking baby steps, in both senses of the word.

He had regained feeling in his lower half, including, yes, his groin, which Stan was _very_ happy about, and soon he went back to school, making up for all the years he had missed. Stan was worried at first, thinking he wouldn't do well in a normal high school, with people and lockers slamming and tests, but Kyle was succeeding and beating Stan in academics, coming second in their class after Wendy.

He did well, and graduated with Stan. They made sure they went to the same college, Kyle pushing Stan to try for the difficult school that he wanted and working hard trying to get in as well, whooping in joy when two envelopes came from their second choice school, saying they had both gotten in.

They shared a dorm room and later in life, a house. They were happy, for the most part. Sometimes one of Them came after Kyle and Stan, sometimes Stan had to work hard to protect Kyle and sometimes Kyle had to work hard to protect Stan, but they kept their promises, their sacred vows.

They grew old together, but never lost their youth in a way. They still enjoyed Saturday night football and Kyle still watched NOVA every Wednesday, they cheered when the war was over and still met up with Cartman and Kenny and the others every now and then. They promised that neither would die until the other did and neither would outlive the other.

When age had taken its toll on Stan, Kyle prayed to god, asking for a kind, merciful death. His wishes were fulfilled and he died peacefully in his sleep, dreaming happily of the time he had to come to spend with Stan, for all eternity, forever young again.

_End_


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